


Bloodline

by astrangerenters



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Blood, Blood Magic, Cruelty, Desert, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Heavy Angst, M/M, Royalty, Slavery, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 01:45:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 76,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11453403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerenters/pseuds/astrangerenters
Summary: In a kingdom where water is more precious than gold, Ninomiya Kazunari discovers that his whole life has been a lie. At the royal court, he learns that deception lies around every corner. Blood equals power. And love comes at a cost.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gods and mortals/fantasy AU with some inspiration from N.K. Jemisin’s _The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms_ (no need to know the book, just giving credit for the inspiration).

Toyone-mura was one of the smallest villages they’d visited in a while, but at least it wasn’t one of the poorest. They’d set up camp just on the village outskirts, thankfully upwind from one of the fenced goat enclosures. By now their human herd of followers had dwindled to less than twenty since the steaming heat of late spring was growing more relentless by the day. Fewer people to account for and thus fewer mouths to feed.

The big show would come tomorrow morning, and it would be Nino’s job to lead the call along the village’s main dirt road. His mother had chided him as a boy for speaking loudly, but as an adult the skill served him and his family well. “The Water Finder is here!” he’d shout, “the Water Finder has come!”

Of course there was no disguising a cluster of mismatched but colorful tents at the edge of town. Anyone with functioning eyes could see that the Water Finder and his entourage had arrived. But villagers from one end of the kingdom to the other seemed to love the ceremony of it all. Nino was just grateful to be off the trail for a few days, in a fixed location, no need to keep his head wrapped and mouth covered to avoid the sand and the dust blowing about.

Ninomiya Seitaro, his father, was a Water Finder and healer. Practitioners of folk magic were officially outlawed in the Sun Kingdom, but enforcement was lax the further you got from Amaterasu, the capital. And Seitaro had made a decent living staying away from Amaterasu. They’d been traveling for as long as Nino had memories, moving from one village to the next through the dry, lifeless desert terrain that dominated the Sun Kingdom’s landscape.

Seitaro was from a long line of Water Finders, had been born to hold the gnarled wooden Fortune Stick in his strong, sun-baked hands. The Water Finders visited places with shortages, places where wells had gone dry or streams had slowed to a trickle. Fresh water was hard to come by no matter where you lived in the Sun Kingdom. In Amaterasu or the small villages and communities that ringed its high stone walls, water was rationed out by the Kingsguard. Beyond the capital lands, the people were largely on their own to support themselves.

Fortune Stick in hand, Nino’s father would trudge through the sands near a village, barefoot and eyes squeezed shut. They usually stayed in a village until he found something, and if the gods failed to instruct him, he refused pay and they moved on just the same. 

When he wasn’t waving that silly stick around, he was healing. Though Seitaro had spent years trying to instill a love of water finding in his son, Nino had never gotten the hang of it. He could walk around with his eyes shut until the sun went down, but he’d never once found a new water source. It was apparently a blessing that hadn’t been bestowed upon him, but healing…Nino felt that healing was much more practical than a divine gift from the God of the Waters. Grinding up herbs and making poultices and creams and things, that at least Nino had been able to learn.

He would be thirty-four years old in two weeks, and all he’d ever known was the next village, the next town that needed Seitaro’s skills. He knew the sturdy yellow canvas of his tent, dotted with the poorly-stitched patches he’d added as years went by rather than relying on his mother to fix it for him. He knew the malnourished faces of children that would light up as soon as he called out that the Water Finder had come to save them. He knew the somber heartbreak in a village elder’s eyes when his father confessed to her that he couldn’t find anything this time.

He wasn’t sure what his future held. The more they traveled, the more Nino wanted to settle down. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to succeed his father as a Water Finder, so maybe it was best he left the caravan and the nomadic life. Maybe he could find a village or town in need of a full-time healer. Even if what he possessed wasn’t proper folk magic, wasn’t a gift from the God of the Waters, it was a useful skill. His father would object, his mother would too. But Nino had already been an adult for many years now. He was nearly fifteen years older than his parents had been when they’d married and started traveling the Sun Kingdom together, a young itinerant Water Finder and his pregnant wife. Didn’t he deserve a chance to start a life of his own?

He swatted at a fly, dusting off his hands on his linen trousers and lifting the flap to his parents’ tent. He’d grown up in this tent, knew every inch of canvas. Knew the tang of the incense his father burned in offering to the God of the Waters. Knew the scent of the oils his mother applied to her dry, windburnt skin after days of desert travel. Nino had slept under this canvas the first sixteen years of his life until finally he’d earned the money to buy a tent from a town craftsman, to have something at last that was private and his own.

Like always on the day before the Water Finding ritual, Seitaro was in one corner of the tent, sitting with his legs crossed, muttering prayers under his breath as the incense burned in the tiny brazier. He was in a world of his own. It was over this past winter that his father’s hair had finally lost its last bits of black. The gray hair just made him look wiser, Nino supposed. A good thing. Meanwhile his mother Kazuko was still unpacking, unraveling bedrolls and shaking sand out of his father’s white robes.

“Looks like everyone has settled in,” he declared. “I’ve fed the camels.”

“Thank you, Kazu,” his mother replied, not even looking up, preoccupied with ensuring the bedrolls were insect-free.

He had been born Ninomiya Kazunari, but over the years “Kazunari” had lost favor with repeat visits to some towns. Even as a child, the Water Finder’s son had often been called “Little Ninomiya,” then “Little Nino,” and finally just “Nino” had stuck to him like a stubborn grain of sand under one of his toenails. Even his father called him Nino in mixed company, if only so people knew to whom he was referring.

Nino’s mother, however, did no such thing. He remained Kazu in most things, Kazunari when he had done something to earn her displeasure.

With Ninomiya Seitaro mostly preoccupied with Water Finding, with his healing, it had fallen to Ninomiya Kazuko to manage just about everything else. Until Nino was twenty, she had managed all the money and related transactions for Seitaro’s services. She’d trained him to take over, helping him hone his skills as a negotiator, as a haggler. Since most villages couldn’t pay in coin, it had fallen to Nino to learn what the equivalents might be. How much cloth could be accepted and traded for something else in a larger town. How many goats. How many sacks of grain.

Kazuko managed the entourage as well. Even as a boy, Nino could remember that there was his family and then there was the entourage. Wanderers without homes or wanderers who chose to leave their homes. People who believed that Seitaro was blessed by the gods and thought it wise to follow him in hopes that they might too be blessed. And others who knew that following a successful Water Finder and being part of his camp meant they might be able to feed themselves or their hungry children for at least another day. Some brought their own camels. Some were willing to come along on foot. 

In the colder months when the deserts were more manageable, the entourage might swell to fifty or more. Most of them contributed to earn their supper, whether it was providing handyman services for villagers or keeping watch on the camels or even providing child care while village residents watched the Water Finding ceremony. Thieves were not permitted, nor were those unwilling to lend a hand when needed. And there were no second chances.

“Nagara has the night watch for the animals,” Nino explained, sitting beside his mother to rest his weary feet. He ran his fingers over one of the bedrolls, helping Kazuko with her vermin hunt.

It had been a long afternoon getting everyone settled in. As his mother’s right hand man, Nino helped get the other tents set up, offered greetings to village elders, and generally looked for ways in which he might be useful. It was another thing that made him long for a life of his own, a more settled existence where he needed to only worry about himself. 

Was it selfish? Probably, but Nino still did his part from sun-up to sundown every single day, so he wasn’t all that ashamed of his secret wishes.

“And we have been offered a goat,” Nino continued, wrinkling his nose. He had long ago tired of goat meat, especially when the goat herder told Nino the poor animal’s name before turning it over. “I said we would be happy to accept it tomorrow when Father has completed the ceremony.”

“Good,” Kazuko said. 

Just like his father, Kazuko would not accept anything that could be construed as a gift or payment until after Seitaro had done his Water Finding. Nino knew that other Water Finders were more than happy to be pampered, to be showered in gifts. It wasn’t the Ninomiya family way, and it never would be.

He filled his mother in on the state of the camp as well as some gossip. For all that Ninomiya Kazuko was a forthright and upstanding woman, she loved gossip as much as anyone else. Rumor had it that Minako, the current laundress among the entourage, was thinking of going back to Yamazoe-mura since she had fallen for the blacksmith there.

“I think it’s a good idea for all involved,” Kazuko remarked with a wry smile. “She’s very lax when it comes to stains.”

Now that he’d completed his report, he was dismissed. The days were longer now that summer had just about come. It had been a journey of nearly two weeks before their arrival that morning in Toyone-mura. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, after days spent watching the shadowy sway of the camel before him in the moonlight. He headed for his own tent, lying on his back with a sigh.

Tonight they’d eat simple fare. Nuts, dried strips of meat, dried fruit if his mother felt like digging into their stores for such an indulgence. Tomorrow his father would do his best to find water for Toyone-mura. They’d eat Happy the Goat for supper (because surely the stupid goat would have a name like that to make Nino feel even more guilty). They’d spend another day seeing if their healing services were needed. And then they’d pack up all over again for the next village that had sent a messenger to find their camp. No matter how far, they would pack up and go.

He stared up at the familiar yellow canvas, frowning at the prospect. Just to punctuate his sour mood, he heard the bleating of a goat in the distance. Nino chuckled bitterly, pulling his blanket up and over his sore, tired body and waiting for the quiet pleasures of a nap to come claim him.

—

It was a festival night in Toyone-mura, and it would have been a festival night even if Seitaro hadn’t come. It was a cleansing ritual dedicated to one of the local gods here in the southeast region of the Sun Kingdom. Yatagarasu, the crow god, apparently offered guidance to wayward souls. 

Nino almost felt like giving an offering of his own to Yatagarasu as he wandered to the village square, drawn in by the heat of the towering bonfire. He felt like a wayward soul, although not in the usual definition of the term. Unlike his wandering parents, he longed to settle. He wondered what advice the crow god might give.

It seemed like everyone in Toyone-mura was out, villagers mingling cheerfully with members of the Water Finder’s entourage. People were always hopeful on the nights before the ritual. How could you not be? The crueler side of Nino’s heart liked these nights for other reasons. Villagers with hope in their eyes and perhaps a little alcohol in their bellies, nights like these often helped Nino find some companionship.

It was lonely in the caravan, traveling the sometimes perilous trails between villages. They mostly moved along after dusk or in the hours before the sun rose too high in the sky. It wasn’t exactly easy to hide such things from your parents in broad daylight, but village festival nights and pitching his tent at a distance from his parents’ tent sometimes brought him good fortune.

His first love was a long-legged carpenter’s daughter from Kijimadaira, a town in the west. They’d spent nearly a month there resupplying the caravan when he was nineteen, and after a week of pursuit and another week of long kisses behind a stable, Nino had finally shared his tent with another. He knew it wouldn’t last and so had she. They’d been to Kijimadaira a handful of times since, and his first love was now happily married with two cute children. She always winked when she saw him, and it made him smile.

His second love was a shoemaker’s apprentice from a village not far from the one where he’d been born. He’d been a few years older, strong and serious, and Nino had enjoyed getting an opportunity to compare the man’s hard kisses and rough skin to his memories of the carpenter’s daughter and the way her soft skin had felt under his fingers. The shoemaker’s apprentice had asked Nino to stay, but at twenty-two such an idea had been impossible to consider.

Most other encounters had been shorter. Often only a night. As a rule, he didn’t sleep with people who were part of his father’s entourage. The last thing he wanted to be was a source of gossip that got back to his mother. Instead they were always strangers along the way. Women he’d healed who paid in full and then asked if he would stay a bit longer. Men who wanted to write poems about Nino’s “romantic” wandering life and men who couldn’t even write their own names. He’d been inside strangers, and strangers had been inside him. He’d experienced pleasure and pain alike depending on the experience (or nervous inexperience) of his partner. But everything was short-lived. Nothing serious. Nothing lasting. Nothing real.

In his observations, having spent his whole life moving from town to town, he envied those who’d found another. For as much as he enjoyed his rare private moments, cherished his time without company, he still longed for the possibility of love. Real, enduring love. Even his parents had each other, so wouldn’t they understand?

A girl with her hair done up in an elaborate knot handed him a crude cup, nearly filling it to the brim with whatever particular poison the villagers here liked to drink. It burned down his throat but he didn’t mind, sipping slowly as he lingered at the edges of the crowd. The bonfire was aided by some old wood, and the smoke would surely cling to his clothes, coming along even after they left Toyone-mura behind.

Away from the flames, a few young women were improvising a shamisen tune while a boy of perhaps ten years smacked eagerly at a drum. Villagers and entourage members partnered up, trying to match the odd rhythm as the flames stretched and leapt up into the sky. Nino had never been one for dancing, and he figured his best bet was to find a lonely man or woman who shared similar values.

He was on his second cup of mystery alcohol when someone happened to find him first. He was a bit strange for a villager, approaching without a cup in his hand and dressed in rather fancy red robes. He almost looked like a temple priest, although Nino wasn’t aware of any temples where they wore red. He had dark hair, darker than Nino’s which tended to lighten a bit in the sun. He had large, handsome eyes and a round face that spoke of a lack of hunger. 

This person, Nino realized as soon as he came closer, was likely not from Toyone-mura. Perhaps just someone passing through, the same as Nino and his father’s entourage. But no matter. He found it was best for both parties in these situations if questions about origins were kept to a minimum.

The man approached, his shoes scuffing along in the dirt. When he spoke, his voice was warm and comforting, the same as the alcohol.

“Are you the son of the Water Finder?” the man in red asked, Nino’s focus sliding from his dark brown eyes to the plumpness of his bottom lip. It had been months since he’d last been presented with such a golden opportunity.

“Yes, I am…the son of…yes,” he muttered, still a bit lost at the sight of the man’s fancy robes and darkened skin. Sunburnt, Nino was nearly convinced, even in the light of the bonfire. Like this man had traveled in the desert without a bit of common sense.

“May I speak with you alone?” the man asked, leaning forward so that his hot breath tickled along Nino’s neck. Certainly he was only speaking closely so he might be heard over the clamor of the music and the dancing and the fire, but Nino was a few steps ahead in his thinking about what this man really wanted from him. The usual side effect of going months without a warm body beside him for a night.

Spying his parents sitting on the other side of the bonfire with the Toyone-mura elders, Nino decided to seize the chance before him.

“Come,” he said to the man in red. “My tent is in the camp just outside of town.”

He downed the rest of his drink, blinking a bit in regret as he set his empty cup down on a short stone wall for one of the villagers to find and reclaim. He could hear the calm footsteps of the stranger at his back as they left the celebration behind and headed back to the stink of the camels and the bleating of the goats.

Nagara was the only one who’d stayed behind, and his back was to them as Nino led the man in red back to the camp. Navigating among the tents, he held the flap aside so his guest could duck his head and come inside.

“Let me just light a lantern,” Nino murmured, wondering how far he might be able to go with this stranger before the rest of the entourage returned. Thankfully in one of the pouches of his pack he had the special oil necessary to make the experience a pleasurable one for both involved. It didn’t look like the stranger had any pockets or places among his robes where such an erotic thing might be stashed.

As soon as the small flame of his lantern left the tent awash in flickering light, Nino saw that the man in red had knelt down before him, a rather deferential gesture. Nino knelt down to match him and leaned forward eagerly, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. Their lips had only just grazed when the stranger moved back in shock, holding up his hands in a pleading gesture.

Nino was left there, uncertain, lips still pursed for an exploratory kiss as the man in red bowed his head low to him.

“I apologize! I’ve given you the wrong idea!”

Nino didn’t bother to hide his disappointment. He’d really wanted a chance to kiss those perfect lips. “The apology should be mine. I should have asked…”

The man looked up, and his face really was red from sunburn. At least it seemed to be masking his embarrassment. “I’ve spent weeks looking for you.”

“For my father’s camp?” he mumbled.

“No,” the man said. “For _you_.”

Nino tried to remember. He’d never seen this man before in his life. There was no chance he’d have forgotten someone this attractive. “I’m sorry, friend. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“We haven’t,” the man confirmed. But then he inclined his head again. “Your Highness, it is imperative you return to Amaterasu with me.”

Your _Highness_?

Nino stared at the man’s bowed head, his stomach starting to get a little queasy from the unfamiliar alcohol. “I…I believe you have the wrong man. Please. Lift your head.” 

The man did so, his brown eyes searching Nino’s face. “You don’t know.”

“What don’t I know?” Nino murmured uncomfortably. His tent seemed small, confining. He needed air. Sure, his father’s camp attracted strange sorts of people, even some who proclaimed Ninomiya Seitaro a god in his own right. But those strange sorts never sought out Nino before. Not once.

“Your mother is Terajima Kazuko?”

Nino leaned back, crossing his arms protectively. There was a lot Nino didn’t know about his mother. Before meeting his father, before the caravan, Nino knew only that she’d lived in Amaterasu. Seeking her fortunes elsewhere, she’d traveled away from the capital, had met Seitaro and fallen in love. He knew nothing of the family she may have left behind or what her life had been like in the capital. The only other thing Nino knew was her name before she’d married.

Terajima Kazuko.

“How do you know that name?” Nino asked cautiously.

“You really don’t know,” the man said again, a fidgety, panicked look in his eyes that made him less handsome.

“What don’t I know?” Nino asked, raising his voice a little. “You’ve been looking for me? Well, you’ve found me. Now tell me plainly. What don’t I know?”

The man bowed his head again despite Nino’s earlier admonishment. He bowed low, the way one did in stories about the capital, about kings and queens. The man in red bowed so low that his forehead touched the bedroll Nino had stretched out on the floor of his tent.

“Your mother is Terajima Kazuko,” the man said quietly as the lantern light bathed the tent in its warm glow. “Your father is Matsumoto Yukio, the heir to the Sun Kingdom.”

Silence descended on the tent. The music played on in the distance, the revels continued.

Nino narrowed his eyes. “I think you should leave.”

The man did not move from his deferential posture. “Rather, I should say that your father _was_ Matsumoto Yukio, the heir to the Sun Kingdom. While I journeyed to find you, he passed away.” 

Nino stretched out a hand, his fingers coming under the man’s chin. A bit rougher than necessary, Nino lifted the man’s head, met his serious eyes. The news had greeted the caravan at the last village they’d visited. News that the heir to the throne, Prince Yukio, had passed away. King Kotaro was approaching his 90th year, still holding power as he had for almost fifty years. Some grandson, Yukio’s son, would likely be the next king now.

But what did that matter? That was the business in the capital, that was Amaterasu business, and whatever happened there mattered little to those the Sun Kingdom forgot or simply ignored. Amaterasu was only the place where tax money was sent, money that never seemed to find its way back to the distant villages. Amaterasu was unimportant, a place that seemed almost unreal save for knowing it as his mother’s place of birth.

“If you came all this way to question my mother’s loyalty to my father, I will have this caravan’s bodyguards slit your throat.”

The man held up his hands in surrender. “Let me speak to her. Please. Ask her to deny my words.”

Nino took a deep breath, was astonished by the sincerity, the pleading in this strange man’s eyes. Had the time under the unforgiving sun addled his brains?

“Please,” the stranger begged again. “I will explain it all.”

His whole life Nino had felt as though he was merely floating along. He had his place in the caravan, his wandering life. A life only as the son of the Water Finder. He now had two choices. Dismiss the crazy man and his red robes, continue his wandering as though the man had never arrived. Or summon his mother and hope she might sort things out, offer an explanation. 

_Your father was Matsumoto Yukio, the heir to the Sun Kingdom._

What a ridiculous claim, and yet the man before him wasn’t wavering. And the man before him knew his mother’s name.

He made his choice.

—

Though Nino had quietly and calmly gone to fetch his mother, his father had followed at her heels. Perhaps they’d seen through him, seen the confusion in him.

The four of them were now seated in his parents’ tent, Seitaro and Kazuko, Nino and the man in the red robes. His mother hadn’t hesitated when the man in red asked her if she was Terajima Kazuko.

She only inclined her head politely. “That was once my name.”

“Forgive me for this sudden intrusion on your camp,” the man in red continued. “My name is Sakurai Sho, I work in the Royal Palace of Amaterasu.”

“Sakurai,” his mother mumbled, nodding. “That is a name I’ve heard…”

“Perhaps you knew my father. He was an advisor to the king when you were in the capital.”

Nino saw the spark of recognition in his mother’s eyes. How would she have known some royal advisor? She was a commoner. “Yes,” she replied, “you do resemble him.”

Nino looked instead to his father, waiting for him to show some reaction to this stranger. And yet he remained placid.

“Madame. Sir,” Sakurai said gently. “I was sent to find you by Prince Yukio.”

At that, Nino saw the slightest twitch of his mother’s lips. “I see.”

“The prince wished to meet with his son,” Sakurai admitted. “The matter was indeed urgent.”

“But the prince has died,” Seitaro said, although Nino was growing more disturbed by how calmly his parents were behaving. 

“Yes,” Sakurai said. “Not long after I departed Amaterasu. But he entrusted me with this mission, and I intend to fulfill it. I was told to bring Kazunari back with me.”

“Hold on a moment,” Nino interrupted, heart racing. “How do you know my…”

“I did as I was told,” his mother said, hands folded tightly in her lap. “I did everything I was told, and yet here you are.”

Nino moved, sitting at his mother’s side, resting a hand on her arm. “What were you told? What is going on here?”

His mother ignored him. Her eyes glimmered as she stared down the stranger, Sakurai Sho from the Royal Palace of Amaterasu. “I have protected him. All this time, we have protected him. If Yukio sent you, then you know this.”

Yukio? Nino’s eyes widened. His mother had always been respectful, and yet here she was referring to the late prince and heir to the kingdom by his given name.

Sakurai looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. Truly. Prince Yukio wished for nothing more than to leave you alone, but things have changed and…”

“I say again,” Seitaro interrupted. “The prince has died. And with him dies any authority over what happens to Kazunari. Isn’t that so?”

Nino shrank back, looking between his parents and Sakurai Sho, an ache growing in his belly. _Your father was Matsumoto Yukio…your father was…_

“Father,” he said sharply, waiting until Seitaro met his eyes. “Tell this man to leave. He’s spreading lies about Mama. You’re my father, and what happens in Amaterasu is no concern of ours. You have the ceremony tomorrow, and we don’t have time for the words of a madman.”

His parents said nothing. Sakurai Sho said nothing.

“This stranger waltzed into our camp and called me the son of the dead prince. He called me the son of Matsumoto Yukio. He’s calling Mama a whore!”

Nino watched, confusion mounting, as Kazuko’s fingers entwined with Seitaro’s. It was Seitaro who seemed to be offering comfort.

“Father, why aren’t you doing anything?!”

“It’s not a lie,” Seitaro said. “Your father is….”

Nino got to his feet instead. “You are!” he said, pointing rudely at the man before him, the man he knew like no other. The man who’d protected him. The man who’d taught him so many things. “You are my father. I am Ninomiya Kazunari. I am a member of this family! This is…this is my family!”

He watched his parents exchange a long, sad look.

“Please sit, Kazu,” his mother pleaded. He’d never heard her sound this upset, this fragile. Ninomiya Kazuko had no patience for liars and cheats. His mother was the strongest person he knew. “Please sit so we might explain it.”

And over the next hour, Nino sat there and learned that his entire life was a lie.

The words came softly, gently. From Kazuko. From Seitaro. They came softly and yet each one felt like a knife in his gut. He faded in and out, each uncovered truth making him wish for the life he’d known only hours ago. When he’d had only to think about goats and water finding, about a future that might someday be his away from the caravan. 

Thirty-four years earlier, Terajima Kazuko had been an orphan who’d been hired on as a chambermaid in the Royal Palace of Amaterasu. She’d lived at the center of the Sun Kingdom, at the center of everything. At eighteen, she’d caught the eye of King Kotaro’s only son and heir, Prince Yukio. The young prince had been betrothed at the time. In fact, his wedding had only been a month away. And yet he pursued Kazuko, begged for her to be his.

“When you’re eighteen and working for a pittance, it’s hard to say no to a prince,” was the matter-of-fact way his mother phrased it.

A brief but consensual affair resulted in a pregnancy. Fearing the king’s wrath and fearing reprisal from his future wife’s home kingdom as well, Prince Yukio sent Kazuko as far from the capital as he could manage. He sent her to a tiny desert town. Prince Yukio had visited the town once, overseeing a tax collection effort. There he’d met a young practitioner of Water Finding. It was the most sensible place to send the mother of his unborn child - as far from Amaterasu as possible and to a proven healer who could care for her.

Kazuko gave birth to the prince’s bastard son in that desert town and only a few months later, Yukio’s wife gave birth to a boy of her own. Once Kazuko was well enough to travel, Seitaro invited the young mother and her baby to join him on the road. A life constantly on the move would protect Kazuko’s son from Yukio’s supporters and enemies alike, would protect Kazuko’s son from being used as a political pawn or as a means to embarrass the royal family.

Along the way, Seitaro and Kazuko fell in love. And they’d married. That part, at least, was true. As they traveled from town to town, nobody questioned that the small boy was anyone but the son of the Water Finder.

Nino wanted to wake from this nightmare. Did he want his independence? A life of his own away from the caravan? Of course. But he loved his parents. He loved them with a devotion he couldn’t put into words. They were kind and generous, patient and loving. For thirty-four years, Nino had had no reason to doubt that Ninomiya Seitaro was his father. And yet here they were, the both of them, revealing themselves to be liars. Liars for all these years. Liars before he’d even been born. And they’d lied only to protect the reputation of a philandering prince hundreds of miles away.

“No,” Seitaro insisted. “We lied to keep you safe. The capital…the capital is a dangerous place…”

“Must he go?” Kazuko asked, leaning forward, desperately seeking answers from the man in red. From Sakurai Sho, nothing more than a servant of a dead prince.

“Stop speaking as if I’m not here. I’m a grown man, damn it, I’m not going anywhere,” Nino insisted. “This is my home. This is my family. Your master is dead! He has no claim on me! I don’t take orders from dead men!”

“Kazunari,” his mother muttered. She’d confessed to all this madness and yet she was chiding him for being rude and noisy.

Sakurai Sho at least had the sense to look contrite about the whole thing. “Forgive me, Your Highness…”

“My name is Ninomiya Kazunari.”

“The future of our kingdom is at stake,” Sakurai continued. “But you may be able to save it.”

Nino narrowed his eyes. “You’ve all confirmed it. I’m nothing more than an unclaimed bastard, spirited away to the desert sands to be forgotten and ignored. You live in the capital, Sakurai, you have no idea what life is like out here. You’ve clearly never missed a meal. But out here, people suffer and starve. Water is sparse and precious. Save the kingdom, you say? Most of the kingdom lives this way, suffers this way. What exactly would I be saving? I don’t care what happens to the king, secret grandfather or no. I won’t care a bit if Amaterasu is wiped away by a sandstorm tomorrow.”

“Kazunari, mind yourself,” Seitaro chided.

He stood up, knowing he sounded childish. “How can I mind myself, Father? Everything I’ve ever been told is a lie. You just expect me to sit here and accept it?”

His mother reached out, fingers brushing against the fabric of his trousers. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at Sakurai Sho. “Yukio wasn’t able to free them, was he?”

Sakurai shook his head. 

“And the other boy?” Seitaro asked.

“He is unable to compel them. Thus he is unable to free them.”

Seitaro and Kazuko both looked shocked. His mother spoke first. “Unable? But the tattoos…”

Sakurai looked pained. “He has the marks of the bloodline, and yet Prince Jun has never been able to tap into their power.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Nino interjected. “Tattoos and bloodlines. How much more nonsense do I have to listen to tonight?”

“Kazunari,” Seitaro said quietly. “Take a walk with me.”

“But Father…”

“Take a walk with me.”

Seitaro got to his feet and headed out of the tent without looking back. Nino had no choice but to follow.

—

Ninomiya Seitaro walked for a considerable time, away from Toyone-mura and out into the moonlight. Small rolling hills surrounded the small village, and Nino trudged up one of them after his father. In the distance, he could still hear the goats bleating, carrying on with things as usual. Only Nino’s life had been thoroughly upended tonight.

Eventually Seitaro stopped walking, standing atop the hill. Together they stood side by side, looking down on Toyone-mura, the orange flames of the bonfire visible in the valley below.

“I love you with everything I am,” Seitaro said quietly, and Nino was grateful that the darkness could hide the tears already rolling down his cheeks. He simply let his father speak. 

“You are my son. You’ve learned tonight that the bond we share is not one of blood, but still you are my son. It is my hope that you will not forget it.”

Nino stared off into the distance, watching the smoke from the bonfire float off in the wind, carried into the night.

“Do you remember the legends of Queen Emi?” Seitaro asked.

He blinked, looking over, seeing that his father was staring at nothing in particular. “Bedtime stories?”

“Time has molded them, the same as any story. Tell me what you remember.”

He rolled his eyes. His father was a simple man, devoted to his water finding and his healing. But sometimes he really did believe that there were gods who had blessed him, shown him the way to find water. He easily believed in legends and folk tales.

“Queen Emi ruled the Sun Kingdom about…seven, maybe eight hundred years ago,” Nino recalled. These were stories his parents…any parents told their little ones. “There was a bad famine, all the water dried up, and she sent her advisor, the Sorcerer Raku, far off to the east to the Great Sea.”

“And Sorcerer Raku was granted an audience with the God of the Waters,” Seitaro continued. “No human had been granted such a privilege in thousands of years, but Raku was well-versed in the dark arts. He walked into the water without drowning and entered the Undersea Palace of the God of the Waters himself.”

The story was coming back to him, bit by bit. He’d had nightmares as a boy of drowning while trying to find his way to the Undersea Palace. He’d never seen the sea before. He’d never seen that much water before. He had a difficult time believing such a place even existed, but he’d seen maps that proved it.

“And Sorcerer Raku, arrogant son of a bitch that he was, walked right up to the throne and demanded assistance with the famine. He demanded that the God deliver rain to the Sun Kingdom,” Nino recalled.

Seitaro nodded. “The God of the Waters was largely unconcerned with human matters, for the sea has been here long before us and will be here long after us.” His father chuckled. “Hard to imagine the sea, period, given how many years we’ve walked these sands. But yes, Raku came in all puffed up and used his magic to set out terms. And then do you remember the God’s response?”

“He sent two of his sons to the Sun Kingdom where they chose to stay. They used their god-given powers to create water from nothing. The sons are the reason we have water here at all, even though we are a desert kingdom,” Nino said. “But because the sons are so far from the sea, their true home and source of their power, the water here is still nothing but a trickle. I never knew why they didn’t just go home and give up on this place.”

“The story was meant to be about filial piety. It was the God of the Waters’ wish that they go help the Sun Kingdom, and good sons obey their fathers,” Seitaro reminded him.

Nino snorted bitterly, the discussion in the tent not far from his mind. “If Sorcerer Raku was so powerful he could walk into the sea, couldn’t he just create water himself with the same magic? Even as a kid I always thought this story was fishy…but to the point, why are we even talking about this?”

“We are talking about this, Kazunari, because it is not a legend. It is the truth.”

He looked over, trying to gauge his father’s expression. “Huh?”

“Like I said, time had molded things. Was there a Queen Emi? Yes. Was there a Sorcerer Raku? Yes. And did the God of the Waters send his sons to Amaterasu?” Seitaro took a breath. “Yes.”

Nino laughed. “Okay. There are gods in the capital, and I’m the prince’s son. What other revelations will emerge tonight? Will you next declare, Father, that you are withdrawing from Water Finding in favor of becoming a fan dancer?”

“Tonight is one for truth telling,” his father remarked sharply. “And what I’m telling you is the truth. Raku, the dark sorcerer, could not make water from nothing. Such abilities lie beyond human reach. But blood magic…forbidden blood magic…that can be used to tame the untameable. To claim what wasn’t Raku’s to claim.”

Nino’s confusion grew.

“Raku set a curse upon his own blood. Perhaps he wouldn’t have called it a curse. Perhaps he’d have called it a blessing. Either way, he painfully tattooed forbidden symbols on his skin. The symbols are in the language of the gods. Those symbols, those tattoos, they can be used to compel not another human…but a god.”

Nino’s father relied on instinct and the waving of his Fortune Stick to find water. And in the healing arts, a practitioner relied on plants and herbs to make medicine. Water Finding was, in a sense, an educated guess. Healing was more tangible. But blood magic? That was a fairy tale.

“When the God of the Waters sent his sons to Amaterasu, Sorcerer Raku tapped into the power of those symbols to trap the sons here in the Sun Kingdom, far from the sea. Permanently. To force them to create water whenever he chose. And in the Sun Kingdom, as you know, a person with water has power. He overthrew Queen Emi and crowned himself king. And for centuries, for so many generations, those symbols were carved into the skin of his descendants so they might also compel the gods.”

Nino shook his head. How come he had never heard any of this? He knew only the old legends, the benevolent sons of the God of the Waters protecting the Sun Kingdom, bringing precious water. Even in small amounts, water was a blessing. 

“This is a fantasy.”

“This is the truth,” Seitaro insisted. 

“Prove it.”

“Your father…I knew him before he was your father,” Seitaro confessed. “Just as we’ve said. He came to my town. He confessed such things to me. He said he envied me my talents as a Water Finder. He said he envied me for being able to find water on my own instead of simply taking it. He showed me his tattoos.” Seitaro lifted the sleeve of his robe, tracing his fingers along his forearm. “One of the gods, one of the sons of the God of the Waters traveled with him. I watched Prince Yukio compel him. I saw a glass fill with water.”

Nino stepped forward, kicking angrily at the sand. “Enough of this!”

“Kazunari, I speak truth to you. The prince was your father, and he sent you away from the capital, sent your mother away so you would not grow up in such an evil place. A palace consumed with forbidden magic, a place that cares nothing for the people outside of its walls. Only their own pleasures and happiness.”

“Do you understand how absurd all of this sounds?” Nino snapped. “Evil sorcerers, blood magic. A tattoo that can overcome a god’s divinity? If there are gods in Amaterasu, trapped here as you say, then how come nobody knows about it? How come the kingdom isn’t overflowing with water? How come Raku and his descendants didn’t go all the way in exploiting the two sons of the God of the Waters? Why not create enough water to turn this kingdom into a giant lake?”

“What I didn’t learn from my brief encounter with Prince Yukio I learned from your mother,” Seitaro said. “She lived and worked in the palace. She witnessed the evil there. Water…more water than you can imagine. They keep it all to themselves, they revel in the power they have, doling out water on their own terms to the people of the capital region. The suffering of the people in the capital or in the remote regions like Toyone-mura matter not…so long as they are perpetually lacking in water and food, they lack the strength to revolt. Such is the status quo.” 

He shook his head. “What does any of this have to do with me? You have already plainly said that I am your son, and that means more to me than the words of a stranger who says I’m a prince’s bastard. I have no obligation to a dead man, to a man who never claimed me as his own.”

“You recall Sakurai Sho’s words…in the tent?” his father asked.

“You all had quite a lot to say,” Nino grumbled. “I don’t believe I’ve absorbed it all yet…”

“That Prince Yukio could not free them. And that Prince Jun cannot use the tattoos to tap into the bloodline.”

Nino just laughed. “I don’t understand. You’re not making a bit of sense.”

“Think of it this way, Kazunari. If Amaterasu is an evil place run by evil people, then why in the world would an intelligent, kind-hearted person like Kazuko have consorted with them?”

Consorted. Nino shuddered a little at how easily his father could say such things about his beloved wife. 

“She was young. A servant. And he was a prince. Men with power use it to manipulate people who have no power at all,” Nino spat out.

“Prince Yukio was different,” Seitaro said quietly. “He was given the tattoos, he was given the power to control the sons of the God the same as every other king and queen in his bloodline. But it was Prince Yukio who left Amaterasu, who toured the distant villages. The small, dusty towns like mine. All of his own accord. He saw the suffering of his people, and unlike his ancestors, he wanted to do something about it. Prince Yukio was privileged, but he was not an evil man. Your mother…she knew that.”

Nino shut his eyes, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The echoing noise from the village in the valley below was starting to grow quieter. The celebratory bonfire would be extinguished soon so Toyone-mura might sleep. How normal the village seemed, the cluster of buildings, the tents set up on the outskirts of town. How could one think of gods walking among humans? How could anything his father said be true? How could it all be true when life in Amaterasu had no effect elsewhere in the kingdom?

How did people not know about the evil being perpetuated in their capital? How did they not know that the royal family had a means of creating water but refused to share it? His parents knew this and had done nothing with this information for over thirty years.

“Prince Yukio sought to undo the evils his family had committed for centuries,” Seitaro explained. “If the tattoos could be used to compel the gods to do his bidding, could the tattoos perhaps be used to break the binding spell instead? Sorcerer Raku, centuries ago, used blood magic to bind the gods to his family line. Only someone from that same bloodline would have the ability to free the gods once and for all.”

Realization hit Nino hard. Now he knew why Sakurai Sho had come. 

“Prince Yukio could not free them,” he mumbled.

“Yes…”

“…and Prince Jun cannot tap into the bloodline.” Nino looked over, saw the grave look on his father’s face. “That’s Yukio’s son?”

“Yes,” Seitaro said again, “…your brother.”

Nino took a deep breath, hands on his hips. In only a night he’d gained far too much. A father. Now a brother. And a family tree with branches soaked in blood, centuries of letting the citizens of the Sun Kingdom suffer, starve, die of thirst. A family committed to maintaining their own power, keeping water scarce, forcing sons of the God of the Waters to do their bidding.

“Prince Yukio left me alone. Left us alone all these years,” Nino said. “But he failed in his goal of freeing them. Now he’s dead and his other son, his legitimate son, can’t control them. Prince Yukio wanted it to stop. He wanted the blood magic, the family’s power over the gods, to stop.”

“Yes,” Seitaro acknowledged.

“That’s why he sent for me,” Nino admitted. “If his son can’t compel the gods, the power of the bloodline dies. But I’m part of the bloodline, too.”

“You are,” Seitaro said.

“But if the bloodline, that blood magic can’t be tapped into, if Prince Jun can’t force the gods to create water, then doesn’t that free them anyhow? Why would he even need me?”

“Your mother told me what Prince Yukio told her before he sent her away,” Seitaro continued. “It all goes back to Sorcerer Raku and the design of the original curse, the specifics of the blood magic. So long as a descendant of Raku lives, so shall the sons of the God of the Waters serve them. And to serve them is to do them no harm.”

“So even if Prince Jun can’t force them to create water, the gods cannot rebel. The gods are tied to the family line, slaves to Raku’s bloodline until it dies out?”

“Think of the legend, Kazunari. The sea has been here long before us and will be here long after us. An immortal like the God of the Waters, he may think nothing of seven or eight hundred years. To him, perhaps it seems like only yesterday that he sent his two sons to help the Sun Kingdom…”

Nino’s eyes widened, and he felt Seitaro’s strong hand squeeze his shoulder.

“You’ve realized it,” Seitaro said.

His words tumbled out. “Even if the gods cannot be forced to create water, they are tied to Raku’s bloodline. They cannot leave the Sun Kingdom. If Raku’s bloodline continues in some way for another eight hundred years. For a thousand. For two thousand…”

“Then perhaps the God of the Waters will realize how Sorcerer Raku and the Sun Kingdom took advantage of the help he provided. It may not affect you or me, it may not happen in our lifetime, but in the future, the God of the Waters will surely retaliate against us, destroy the Sun Kingdom. Perhaps destroy all of mankind for trapping his children. Our descendants will suffer because of one man’s foolish trickery centuries ago. Prince Yukio, your father, could not live with that possibility. Even if he’d be long dead, he refused to envision such a dark future for humanity. So he tried to break the curse himself. But he must have discovered that he couldn’t. And so he sent for you.”

Nino exhaled, slowly moving until he was sitting directly on the ground, watching the fading bonfire in the distance.

“This is…this is a lot.”

“I never thought I’d have to tell you any of this,” Seitaro admitted quietly, still standing by his side. “By the gods, Kazunari, you’re a grown man. Half your lifetime has gone by with not a word from Prince Yukio. Kazuko and I hoped…we truly hoped this day would never come. We watched you grow up, wondering each and every day if it was our last with you. If Prince Yukio would come and take you away from us. But you grew. You turned ten, twenty, thirty…we assumed you were truly free.”

“Prince Yukio sent Sakurai Sho to find me so I might break the curse,” Nino said. “But even if by some miracle I can do that…what’s to stop the gods from destroying the Sun Kingdom anyway? What’s to stop them from immediately fleeing Amaterasu and going to their father and wiping us all out with a flood? What’s been done would obviously anger the God of the Waters whether his sons tell him what happened or if enough time goes by that he starts questioning their absence…” He took a breath. “Father, if I free them now, it might only bring the God’s punishment quicker.”

His father exhaled slowly. “Perhaps.”

He looked up, seeing a look on Seitaro’s face that he recognized easily, even in the sparse moonlight. Resolve. And acceptance.

“You think I should go. To Amaterasu,” Nino said.

“I became a Water Finder, the same as my mother, the same as my grandfather and great-grandfather. Other paths were before me, and yet I chose this one. My calling was to help, to be of use. Water Finding is not your calling, Kazunari. You were meant for bigger things.”

“I might be the same as Prince Jun,” Nino pointed out. “I might not be able to do anything. Then the curse only ends if Prince Jun or I die childless. Or I might have the powers you speak of, the power to break the curse. And when I break it, the God of the Waters retaliates. He wipes the Sun Kingdom out in seconds, and we all die. So either I’m completely useless or entirely too useful.”

He was surprised when Seitaro laughed.

“What’s so funny about our impending doom, whether it comes tomorrow or in centuries?”

He felt his father’s hand on top of his head, ruffling his hair as though Nino was still a boy. “You won’t bring about our doom, Kazunari.”

“You’re a fortune teller now?”

“No, but I know one thing for certain.”

“And that is?”

He shut his eyes, let his father stroke his hair.

“You’re my son. And I know that you will find a way.”


	2. Chapter 2

The village was bustling the next day, men and women working together to start digging for a new potential well where Seitaro had directed. For the first time, Nino had skipped the ceremony, finding it difficult to watch the desperate search for water knowing what he did now. That in Amaterasu water was abundant. It had been for centuries. And the ones who had withheld it from the people were his ancestors.

The revelations of the night before had made sleeping almost impossible. It wasn’t enough that he was another man’s son. It wasn’t enough that he was of royal blood. Oh no, there was so much more than that. The fate of the entire _kingdom_ might rest on his shoulders. All he’d ever wanted was peace, stability. A place someday to call his own. Love, if he was so fortunate. 

Ninomiya Kazunari wanted to remain nobody special. He only wanted to be happy. But knowing what he did now, how could he just ignore it?

He couldn’t ignore his father’s faith in him, even if it was foolish. He couldn’t ignore how hard it must have been for his mother all these years, always knowing that Nino might be taken away from her. And he couldn’t ignore Sakurai Sho, who’d walked into Toyone-mura and begged for his help on behalf of a man Nino would never know. 

Faith. Love. Duty. He’d seen his parents exhibit those traits his entire life. Water Finding, the caravan…the Ninomiya family’s existence revolved around helping others, helping complete strangers. Even when it was inconvenient. Even when it was hard. Telling Sakurai Sho to leave camp, telling Sakurai Sho that he wouldn’t help? It would mean that he’d learned nothing from his parents in his thirty-four years of life.

He found Sakurai Sho in his parents’ tent. After Nino and Seitaro had left to speak away from town, Kazuko had forced the traveler to rest. The man had come a long way to find him, and his duty to his prince had outweighed taking more sensible precautions. Nino found the man in his red robes under a blanket, one of Nino’s own salves coating his sunburnt face in a goopy white mess. 

He sat there while the noise continued outside the tent, watching Sakurai as he dozed. The night before, Nino thought he’d simply be able to blow off some steam, find comfort in someone new. But Sakurai Sho had instead brought him nothing but difficult choices, a heavy burden.

He’d been sitting there a while before Sakurai opened his eyes, looking up at him with barely restrained hope. “Your Highness…”

“First things first, I’m not going to allow that. I’m not accustomed to having servants around me,” Nino replied. “So call me Nino or call me nothing at all.”

Despite the salve covering his obviously painful sunburnt skin, Sakurai seemed amused. “As you wish. You can call me anything you like, as is your right, but otherwise…Sho is fine.”

Nino definitely didn’t like the sound of “as is your right,” but he kept those thoughts to himself for now. What else might be his “right” as a member of his family?

“I received a thorough history lesson from my…from Seitaro,” he said. “About the expectations Prince Yukio had for me. Alive or dead, the kingdom-saving falls to me, doesn’t it?”

Sho’s expression grew more solemn. “You will come?”

“I don’t have much choice, do I? I’d rather not be the one the historians name as ‘the man who refused to help.’”

Sho smiled, but then immediately winced in pain. Nino couldn’t help chuckling at his discomfort.

“Next time you’ll cover up better,” he said, giving Sho a poke in the arm. At least wearing those robes on his journey had saved the rest of his body from the sun’s fierce rays.

“I am not accustomed to traveling,” Sho admitted.

“I’ve spent my whole life doing it, and the desert is no joke.” He leaned forward. “It seems we’ll be journeying together soon. But I’ll be the one planning the itinerary, if you don’t mind.”

“I understand how important your family is to you,” Sho said. “I am truly sorry to take you away from them.”

Given how awful Amaterasu sounded, Nino was thrilled there would be hundreds of miles between him and his parents from now on. He’d miss them, but their safety was more important. Especially since they knew the secrets of Amaterasu and the Matsumoto royal family.

“We’ll stay here as long as the caravan does, and then we’ll make our way to the capital,” Nino decided. 

His parents would stay in Toyone-mura a few days more, perhaps even a week. He’d spoken with his mother early that morning, and with Nino gone, there’d be much more for her to do or to delegate to others. Kazuko was efficient, but she couldn’t run things all on her own. Before the caravan moved on, such things would need to be settled.

“Since we’ve got time, Sho, perhaps it’s best you get talking. I’ve only been a prince’s bastard for a day now, so my education is rather lacking. So tell me. Who are you?”

He spent the next several hours in the tent with Sakurai Sho, learning about the man who’d journeyed for weeks to find him. Sho was a little older than him, the eldest son of a family with a long history of advising the Matsumoto royal family. But the relationship had soured.

The descendants of Sorcerer Raku, kings and queens alike, had lived pampered lives in the inner sanctum that was the Royal Palace of Amaterasu. By rationing out water to the capital and the villages outside Amaterasu’s walls, they kept the people dependent on their “generosity.” Water could be given. Water could be taken away. The Kingsguard or Queensguard of each generation was given ample water and food to retain their loyalty and were wielded swiftly to quell rioting or any other signs of rebellion.

The Sakurai family had been wealthy and influential, had pretty much bought their way into the palace to advise the monarch. Amaterasu had its elites the same as any city or large town, but it was a tricky balance. A handful of pipelines led out from the royal palace, directly to the estates of the leading families. Direct water sources available only to them, while the rest of the capital had to share the remainder. But just like the ones going to the common folk, a pipeline could be switched off if an aristocratic family aimed a bit too high or displeased the king.

Sho’s father had been groomed from a young age to serve King Kotaro as his treasury advisor. Where to invest money (in pipelines and other infrastructure), where to try and get more (raise taxes, sell royal lands to private investors). Sho’s father was a few years older than Kotaro’s heir, Prince Yukio. Prince Yukio who wanted to know more about where the treasury got its funds, who accompanied Sakurai to the poorest reaches of the kingdom to take what they could in tax from those who had next to nothing.

Sho had only been a toddler when his family was stripped of its aristocratic title. When Prince Yukio went to the king with new ideas for lowering taxes on the poor, the king presumed that it had been Sakurai’s influence, an attempt to weaken royal power. It was Prince Yukio who intervened, to keep the family who’d served them for centuries from being killed outright. The bargain struck was a heavy one.

The entire Sakurai family, his father and mother, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins were evicted from Amaterasu and sent to Tsumagoi in the north, close to the border with the Sun Kingdom’s neighbors, the Empire of Salt. Cold and unfriendly, the town at least had a freshwater river running through it.

Though Yukio had saved them from death, he couldn’t save them from shame. Sho was kept behind in Amaterasu, and so the heir who would have served the king as a trusted advisor was brought low, made a mere servant in the prince’s household. 

“A hostage,” Sho explained, “so my family wouldn’t try anything foolish.”

Sho knew his family only through letters, all of which were opened and read before he was allowed to see them. He couldn’t remember what his parents looked like. He had siblings he’d never met, two nieces. Nino couldn’t even imagine it. Sho’s father had fallen from favor because Prince Yukio had allowed it. Reducing taxes had been his idea, not Sakurai’s. And yet he’d let Sakurai take the fall. 

Nino was the son of a man like that.

Sho defended him anyway. “You must understand. Prince Yukio could not allow his father to know of his rebellious ambitions. Freeing the gods from Amaterasu was not his only aim. He wished for equality, for a way to bring water to all the people.”

“He ruined your life, Sho. He ruined your family to keep his secrets.”

“It’s complicated. My family didn’t suffer. And he was kind to me…”

“And now he’s dead,” Nino said coldly, irritated with each new detail revealed about the man who fathered him.

Sho blinked a few times but otherwise showed no other emotion.

“Yes, now he’s dead.”

Nino got to his feet. “You should rest. It will take us more than a week to reach the capital. I think I’ve heard just about enough today.”

“I understand.”

He was about to exit when Sho spoke again.

“For what it’s worth…”

Nino turned, looking down at the sad state of the man lying on the bedroll, face covered in salve.

“For what it’s worth,” Sho continued, “I’ve had thirty years to come to terms with what happened to me. To my family. I’ve had time to find my place in Amaterasu, to do what I had to do to survive there. Your learning curve will be considerably steeper. So I promise you, Ninomiya Kazunari, that I’ll do whatever it takes to help you.”

“Because Matsumoto Yukio ordered it?”

Sho’s eyes, the eyes that had captivated Nino from the start, were utterly serious. “No, not just because he ordered it.” Servant or no, Sho looked at him straight on, unflinching. “But because it is the right thing to do.”

Seitaro believed in him. So did his mother. So did Sho.

Nino left the tent behind, blinking in the afternoon sun. He found his mother standing at the edge of camp, watching as the residents of Toyone-mura dug where Seitaro’s Fortune Stick had indicated. He stood behind Kazuko, wrapping his arms around her, squeezing tight. Her hands grasped his desperately, even though her face betrayed none of her fear.

They said nothing, standing there out of the way as shovels dug and villagers prayed.

He wasn’t ready for this, for any of this. But when he heard the celebratory cries, when he heard the fevered gasps of “Water! We have water here!” he knew that the countdown was on. Soon he’d leave his life behind, everything he’d ever known. 

And ready or not, the capital city of Amaterasu awaited him.

—

Sho’s face began to flake and peel a few days later, and they sat in the village square in the shade of an ancient palm tree. Nino had his mortar and pestle, was grinding a nutty paste that would smell horrible but quicken the healing process.

The Water Finder camp was assisting with the new well, also helping to construct makeshift tanks to bring up and store some water for reserves. In two days, they would leave for Aguni-mura fifty miles west. But Nino and Sho would set off for the town of Izena-machi instead, ten miles north. Trader caravans from the capital passed through Izena-machi regularly, and they would pay their way into a caravan’s protection. From there it was another two hundred miles northeast to Amaterasu. Traveling alone was simply too dangerous, especially with Nino’s grave new mission.

Sho had learned of Prince Yukio’s passing only a week into his search. He’d been sent from the capital in secret. He bore no identification or papers that might alert a Kingsguard patrol to who he worked for. With the prince dead, his position was all the more dangerous. The prince might have covered for his absence at the Royal Palace. But Sho was likely considered a deserter now, a runaway from his post.

“Doesn’t that jeopardize your family?” Nino wondered. “Since you’re supposed to be a hostage?”

“I’ve cultivated some friendships at the palace,” Sho admitted quietly, fanning himself. “I suppose I’ll discover if any of them were legitimate now, if they’ve kept my absence a secret.”

Yukio’s orders had been clear. Sho would find Nino and bring him back to Amaterasu, but not directly to the Royal Palace. That was suicidal - his arrival there would directly threaten the Matsumoto family line, given that Prince Jun was Yukio’s already named heir. Not to mention the fallout from the circumstances of Nino’s birth.

Instead Sho had been directed to bring Nino to one of the larger estates in the capital. The Tanaka family, a merchant family raised to aristocrat status, had been demoted again on the king’s whim. Yukio had been given the estate as a gift. Nino would be sequestered in one of the servants’ cottages on the property, there to study and train in the dark magic that had long kept his family in power.

Sho was fairly certain the plan could continue as is. If Yukio had been alive, he’d have been able to easily control access to the estate. But with Yukio’s death so recent, so sudden, the capital would still be in a state of mourning. Depending on the king’s decision, Yukio’s properties would not be meddled with for months or they would be given to Prince Jun to manage. And the king’s grandson would steer clear while the court mourned his father’s passing. Either way, Nino’s hiding place was likely to go unnoticed for a while, and then it would be up to Sho to find another place to stash him.

Perhaps if he showed a gift for magic, Sho explained, the gods might be freed without the king ever knowing of his existence.

“These gods, the sons of the God of the Waters…you haven’t spoken of them yet. Who are they? I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of gods walking among us.”

“They may look like us, like humans,” Sho explained, “but you need only spend a few moments in their company before you realize there’s so much more to them. Trapped they may be, but there’s no disguising a…”

The afternoon calm was shattered suddenly when Taniguchi, one of the camp’s bodyguards, came running back through the village square, one of the Toyone-mura patrollers not far behind.

“The Kingsguard approaches Toyone-mura!” the patroller hollered. “It is the Kingsguard!”

The palm frond Sho had been fanning himself with fluttered from his fingers and fell to the ground.

Nino gathered up his mortar and pestle, his work half-finished and the warning cry still echoing in his ears. He watched Taniguchi and the patroller disappear into the village elder’s home.

“Kingsguard?” Nino murmured, watching Sho slowly get to his feet. “They never venture this far…”

He’d seen the kingdom’s foot soldiers before, toting their shields that were emblazoned with a blood red circle meant to symbolize the rising sun. They were more commonly encountered in border towns, with the rest residing in or near Amaterasu. The small villages and towns that the caravan visited rarely saw the kingdom’s soldiers unless a village refused to deal with representatives from the treasury who came to collect taxes. 

Kingsguard in a remote backwater like Toyone-mura could only mean one thing.

He could see the panic rising in Sho’s face. Nino had only known Sakurai Sho a few days, but he knew that the man was trustworthy. His mother would never have let him stay in their camp if he wasn’t. Which meant that Sho hadn’t lured the Kingsguard here on purpose.

It wasn’t likely that Nino and Sho would have the upper hand now. 

“Hiding will only make things worse,” Sho admitted.

“They’ve come for me, haven’t they?”

Sho looked defeated. “So it would seem.”

The leaders arrived on horseback, which meant that they’d likely come straight from Izena-machi where such animals could be procured. Forcing a horse any further in the desert would kill them, and Nino doubted that the king’s finest would lower themselves to going about on foot or camelback.

The cavalry rode into the village square, horses whinnying as they encircled the area, trapping Sho and Nino along with a dozen or more other Toyone-mura villagers. The only opening was to allow a few dozen foot soldiers to enter, packs on their back and dressed for desert travel in lighter chainmail and helmets with sun visors. He couldn’t ignore the daggers strapped to each man’s side.

Nino heard Sho inhale sharply behind him when they saw some soldiers bring up the rear, eight of them bearing a glimmering golden litter. Nino saw the dark red circle painted on the shiny cloth. It wasn’t just soldiers arriving, now was it?

The men gently eased the litter down, kneeling in deference. Nino took a defensive step back, feeling Sho’s hand rest protectively on his shoulder. Looking behind the horses, he could see his mother and father watching in fright. He wished they could run, find safety in their tent, but it was too risky a move.

The cloth was quickly thrown aside as a woman emerged from the litter, dressed for the desert heat and blowing sands in loose, flowing purple robes. Her headscarf and face veil were a lighter violet. She immediately started walking in Sho and Nino’s direction, detaching the veil from her face where it had been secured with a silver chain. This revealed a woman of perhaps his mother’s age, maybe a little younger. 

Unlike most women Nino had met in his life, this woman could afford makeup, bold red pigments for both her cheeks and her lips. It made her mouth look bloody, and from the way Sho’s hand tightened on his shoulder, Nino suddenly knew that this wasn’t a woman he could afford to disobey.

In the distance, Nino could hear a child crying. He couldn’t blame them. The closer she came, the more Nino wanted to cry himself. There was something in her eyes…something in her eyes that frightened him.

And yet he was astonished when the woman knelt down before him, her beautiful robes hitting the dirt. He said nothing, too stunned to speak. He did, however, feel Sho’s hand slip away.

The woman rose again, her brown eyes sparkling with mirth, her teeth yellowed with odd neglect. “I knew you on sight. It is remarkable how long you’ve managed to hide from us.”

“Madame,” Nino replied anxiously. “May I ask who you are?”

“You may,” the woman replied teasingly, and her voice was deep, her words clipped and sharp like most people he’d encountered from the capital region. A voice that threatened like a deadly blade. His mother, however, had long since abandoned the accent. Nino understood why. 

He stared at her for another moment before gathering his courage. “I am Ninomiya Kazunari. From the size of your entourage, it seems you’ve been looking for me for some time. Who are you?”

“Ninomiya Kazunari, he calls himself,” the woman said, her crimson lips quirking into a grin. “My name is Matsumoto Rumiko, blood descendant of Raku, the first of his name. It is wonderful to finally meet my long-lost nephew.”

_Nephew_? This woman was his aunt? His parents hadn’t mentioned Yukio having a sister. Nor had Sakurai Sho. His new and terrible family was growing by the minute.

“We are alike, Kazunari,” the woman said, and she reached out, her finger stroking his cheek affectionately. It took all Nino had not to shudder at her touch. “We are both the unwanted siblings.”

Nino looked around, saw the men on horseback and the foot soldiers all staring him down. There was little friendliness in their faces compared to Matsumoto Rumiko’s.

The woman’s grin faded as she looked behind him. “It will show respect.”

Nino turned, watching how quickly Sho dropped to the ground, inclining his head. “Sorceress,” Sho said in acknowledgment.

Sorceress?!

“My family is staying just outside the village,” Nino said, trying to draw his apparent aunt’s attention away from Sho. “Can we sit and get to know each other? Some tea perhaps? We are a humble Water Finder caravan, Madame, but…”

Her hand cupped his face now, those eyes of hers staring him down. There was madness in them, Nino was certain of it. This woman was dangerous. He had to tread carefully - for his family’s sake, for Sho’s, and for Toyone-mura. 

“Kazunari, my blood. There will be plenty of time for us to become friendly. It will be several days before we reach the capital.”

His chest tightened. He thought he had time. Time with his mother, his father. She was going to take him away from here. This woman and the Kingsguard. He would not be sneaking into Amaterasu now, would he? Maybe it was best if he played the fool.

“I don’t understand,” he mumbled.

“I can’t imagine the lies this pitiful creature has told you,” Rumiko said, moving to grab Sho by the hair, tugging hard until she could see his face. Nino’s heart was racing. Sho had been sent here secretly…and here he was now, surrounded by the Kingsguard. This Sorceress, this aunt of his, didn’t seem to wish Nino ill. But Sho…Sho was in danger.

“My dear brother, may the Gods favor him, was awfully fond of it,” Rumiko continued, her fingernails digging into Sho’s scalp. It. This woman had referred to Sho, a human being, as nothing but an “it.” Sho only looked at the sand beneath him, obviously wishing to cry out in pain but holding it in.

He had to do something. He remembered Sho’s words - how he’d had thirty years to learn how to survive in Amaterasu. Nino had anything but the luxury of time. He knew so little about the capital, but his mother had taught him to observe and emulate people’s behaviors as best he could. Of course that advice was meant for effective bartering at the market, not negotiating with a sorceress. 

Then again, Ninomiya Kazuko had been in the capital herself. It was obviously where she’d learned to play the game.

“Madame,” Nino said, raising his voice a little and aiming for the same oddly cheerful tone as Rumiko. “Forgive my ignorance. I’ve only just learned my true heritage. The power my blood holds. I might have never learned of it had Sakurai Sho not come here.”

The sorceress let Sho go, turning back to Nino with a smile. From the corner of his eye, Nino could see Sho shaking in fear.

“It managed to convey that much to you? My dear brother sent it off behind our father’s back. A most unwise choice. Ah, but he thought he was clever, Yukio did. He believed all this time that Father didn’t know about you.”

Nino absorbed the information that was coming to him as quickly as he could. He could see Sho stiffen at Rumiko’s words. King Kotaro had known about Yukio’s bastard son, about Nino, all this time? For more than thirty years the king had known? For more than thirty years, the king could have sent an army to snatch him away? Why hadn’t he?

“I told you, Kazunari, that you and I share a special bond. We are the unwanted siblings. But now that my dear brother is gone and his other son is useless to Father, it’s our time, is it not?”

Two sides needed him. Sakurai Sho on behalf of Prince Yukio, who wished to free the gods from Amaterasu. And now Sorceress Rumiko, his aunt, on behalf of King Kotaro. King Kotaro, whose only other heir did not have the ability to compel the gods. After only a few minutes in Rumiko’s company, it was rather obvious which side was the more righteous one. But to survive, to keep his family safe, he’d have to make a different choice. At least for now.

With a few dozen members of the Kingsguard at her command and whatever powers a sorceress might possess, Rumiko was dangerous. It was clear that she needed him alive. But that didn’t necessarily apply to Toyone-mura. His parents. And Sakurai Sho.

Nino looked around. Beyond the horses, he could see the frightened, confused faces of the villagers. He couldn’t let anything happen to them. 

“If I understand what you’ve said, Madame, it seems that I am needed in the capital very urgently. To ensure the survival of our bloodline.”

Rumiko’s dark red smile brightened. “I will train you myself, Kazunari. You are getting a late start, but I promise that you will be mighty. A worthy successor to my father.”

He didn’t like the sound of that at all, of having to spend any more time in this terrifying woman’s presence. But he didn’t seem to have much choice. “Then I come willingly. And with appreciation.”

Rumiko held his face in her hands. He held in a shudder at the realization that they were related by blood. “My darling nephew, how thrilled I am that you know your own worth and value. We will water the horses and leave as soon as they’re ready. You need bring nothing with you. In Amaterasu, you will have all that you need. I will do everything in my power to help you. You have my word as a Matsumoto.”

He remembered Sho making a similar vow. But unlike Sho, Nino didn’t trust this woman one bit. “I have two very minor conditions.”

Rumiko’s smile weakened the slightest bit, but Nino stood his ground as best he could. Careful, he told himself. Careful.

The eyes of the village and the eyes of the Kingsguard were still upon him. All of them observing this most unusual conference in the center of their village. “Ninomiya Kazuko and Seitaro. My parents and their caravan. I presume that if the king knew of me, he knew just as much of them. I ask that they be left in peace.”

“Of course,” Rumiko replied. “Father has no quarrel with them. It is clear they were manipulated and used by Yukio. Father is an understanding man, he would wish no harm upon the people who raised you and kept you safe all this time.”

Nino wanted to sigh in relief but he couldn’t. Not just yet.

“Sakurai Sho,” he said firmly. “What is to be done with him?”

Rumiko smiled yet again. “It is for Father to deal with.”

Breathe, Nino. Just breathe, he told himself. “Sakurai Sho was my father’s servant. I would take him as my own.”

Rumiko looked down at Sho, who was still almost face down in the dirt. “Nephew, that I cannot grant you. Again, it is for Father to deal with.”

“Then…then I will take the matter up with him when we meet.”

“It seems you have a soft heart for the weak, Kazunari, the same as your father.” Rumiko leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Her next words came as a mere whisper in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “I will have to break you from that habit.”

Rumiko stepped back, clapping her hands. 

“We depart within the hour.”

Nino looked across the village square, seeing his parents huddled together. It was clear that Rumiko and the Kingsguard were not going to let him out of their sight. So just like that, he would leave his parents behind.

He met his parents’ eyes, read the words on their lips, the pleas plainly etched on their sun-weathered faces. Be strong, Ninomiya Seitaro was telling him. Ninomiya Kazuko’s words were even more desperate.

_You must be smarter than them. Or else._

—

They moved from town to town with an efficiency Nino had never known as a member of the caravan. They changed horses in every town and quartered in them at night. It was the law that citizens had to provide for the Kingsguard if they visited their town. It was a common occurrence along the borders, and towns there often had barracks available.

But in the towns they visited along the route to Amaterasu, visits of the Kingsguard were considerably more rare. Nino watched from the safety of the royal litter, Matsumoto Rumiko sitting across from him, as townsfolk were forced from their homes for the night so that the soldiers would have a place to stay. Their food and water was taken from them as well. No repayment or replenishments were offered. Complaints would only earn them punishments.

Nino was treated even better now that he was considered royal. He and Rumiko were quartered in town inns or in the homes of mayors or town elders. He was given fine foods, guilt squeezing his heart each time a frightened housewife set down a platter before him, as though he’d find something wrong with it and hurt her or her family. He’d be seated across from his aunt, who spent most meals sipping wine and rolling her eyes when Nino offered quiet thanks for what he was served.

At night, there were members of the Kingsguard posted outside of his room. Nino, still rather unaccustomed to mattresses, spent most nights awake and irritated, knowing he had no escape. Of course Rumiko’s excuse was that it was for his protection - in case agents of Prince Yukio or his widow, Princess Mariya, tried to compromise the mission.

Nino’s only comfort was knowing that Sho was still alive. It had been clear from their first day on the road that Sho, a servant, could not travel through the desert with the same speed as a trained soldier. It was Nino who had suggested that Sho be put on a horse so he “didn’t hold them up.” Rumiko had clearly seen through his lie, but since she was charged with bringing Sho to the capital alive to face judgment, she’d allowed it.

Sho’s nights were worse, Nino knew. He was forced to sleep in town stables with the horses, was expected to drink from the same water trough if he was thirsty. It had been hard enough to get permission for Sho to travel on a horse. There was no way Nino was going to be able to get Rumiko to give in on Sho’s treatment otherwise. 

If Nino wanted to survive in this harsh new world, he knew it was only logical to forget about Sho. To ignore his treatment and play the game Rumiko wanted him to play. Hell, maybe it would have been better to not suggest the horse at all. Sho might have simply dropped dead from thirst or heatstroke. Certainly that was a better death than whatever likely awaited him in Amaterasu. Nino doubted the king would be merciful to someone perceived as a traitor. 

Unless Nino found a solution, Sho would die suffering. And slowly at that.

Nino had met eyes with Sho only a handful of times so far on their journey. And Sho had smiled at him, encouraging him. Nino couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand Sho’s willingness to endure such humiliation. Even back in Toyone-mura, Sho might have saved himself. As soon as he’d heard of the Kingsguard’s approach, he might have fled as though he’d never come looking. Rumiko might have given up on Sho, assumed he was dead out in the desert sands, so long as she had Nino to bring to Amaterasu.

They were now three or four days away from the capital, and Nino woke from a nightmare-filled sleep. He woke in yet another stranger’s bed, sitting up and staring sadly at the infant crib in the corner of the room. He and Rumiko had been quartered overnight in the home of Mayor Toda, the woman in charge of Miyashiro-machi. Mayor Toda, her husband, and two young children were spending the night downstairs in their kitchen while Nino slept in her bed.

He bathed quickly, dressing in the clothes Rumiko had provided for him. Lightweight material, well-made. He’d never worn anything so fine as the new shirts and trousers she gave him. Good for the desert heat and with a pair of boots that she had one of the foot soldiers clean and polish for him every night. Wearing them repulsed him. He’d brought nothing from his tent. None of his clothes. None of his trinkets. Nothing that belonged to the Ninomiya Kazunari from the Water Finder’s caravan. That was all to be erased so that the man who appeared in Amaterasu looked more like a prince. He was certain that was Rumiko’s aim.

He was told to bathe every day, and the long, messy black hair he usually tied back out of his face had been cut a few towns back. He was told to shave his face every day because facial hair, even the shadow of it, was not popular in Amaterasu. He was eating more in one meal than he usually ate in an entire day back in the caravan, and the richness of everything repeatedly upset his stomach. When he woke now, ran a comb through his too short hair and peered into the mirror in a room he’d been forced to borrow, a different man stared back out. 

He looked in the mirror now, exhaling shakily. All he could see was a man of royal blood. There were dark circles under his eyes - not from the exhaustion of a long day’s travel in the caravan, but from being unable to sleep in a stolen bed. Disgusted with the sight of himself, he headed down the stairs, finding Rumiko already eating breakfast.

He asked only for rice with an egg and soy sauce, mixing it all together with little enthusiasm. Somewhere in a Miyashiro-machi stable, Sakurai Sho was probably hoping that one of the carrots for the horses might fall somewhere in his reach.

“Good morning, my blood,” Rumiko said, smiling in that sinister manner of hers.

“Good morning, Aunt.” She liked it when he called her that, so he’d continued it. 

Though they’d already spent days traveling together, there was a lot that Nino still didn’t know about the capital they were approaching. He had asked repeatedly about the sons of the God of the Waters. He’d even expressed his wish to meet them as soon as possible so he might better understand the powers his blood might give him over them. Each lie tasted rotten, but his curiosity seemed to please Matsumoto Rumiko even though she gave him few answers.

Instead, she mostly talked about herself. She was one of the most self-involved people Nino had ever met. She had been born seven years after her elder brother, Prince Yukio. Though she was the daughter of King Kotaro, her mother had been an aristocrat’s wife. Her mother and the woman’s husband had been banished from Amaterasu shortly after her birth as a way of appeasing King Kotaro’s wife, the queen.

Rumiko professed to being her father’s favorite, although Nino wondered how much of that was an exaggeration or outright lie. Nino had never paid much attention to matters of the royal family, but everyone had known that Yukio was Kotaro’s heir. Word of Yukio having a sister had never reached their caravan. Nino wished he could speak with Sho. He would tell the truth. For now, he could only pretend to accept Rumiko’s words, doing his best to act charmed by his newly discovered aunt.

As a younger child and a daughter (and an illegitimate one at that, Nino thought), Rumiko had never been considered for rule. Instead, she had studied her royal lineage. From the reverent way she spoke of it, Nino guessed it might have become her life’s obsession. No matter who her mother was, the blood of Sorcerer Raku flowed in her veins. She told Nino that she studied magic in order to “bring honor to the family, to the history of our bloodline.” But when Nino had asked her to demonstrate her abilities, she had only grinned, showing off an onyx bangle clasped around her ankle.

“Father doesn’t allow me to show off anymore,” was the only explanation offered. Presumably the bangle suppressed whatever magical powers she had honed over the years. And this also likely meant that King Kotaro had his own doubts about his daughter. An adult woman in her fifties, and yet she wasn’t fully trusted. 

King Kotaro had also known about Yukio’s defiance, about the son he’d fathered and sent off to the desert. That also led Nino to believe that Kotaro had been equally suspicious of his son and had been for many years. The court Nino would arrive at in only a matter of days would be a difficult one to navigate. The only person he was sure he could trust might be executed as soon as they arrived.

Rumiko spent the remainder of the meal attempting to poison Nino’s mind against Princess Mariya and her son, Prince Jun. Nino’s half-brother. Rumiko made no attempt to hide her dislike.

“The West Kingdom, it’s no secret that weakness runs in their blood,” Rumiko was saying. The woman was obsessed with bloodlines. “Why Father even allowed Yukio to marry one of their simpering princesses still astounds me to this day. It is no wonder that the child of that union is useless.”

Having not been introduced to Prince Jun, Nino decided to withhold judgment on him. He was rather surprised that Rumiko would speak so disparagingly of her own family, but she appeared to value strength and power above all else. If Prince Jun truly lacked the ability to compel the gods, it explained Rumiko’s disdain for him. 

But what did that mean for Nino, who’d arrive in Amaterasu soon with Rumiko by his side? Already he thought there’d be two court factions aiming to control him. The King and Rumiko on one side, Sho and whoever remained loyal to Yukio on the other. But what about Prince Jun? He was Nino’s age and surely had his own measure of influence at court. Even without magical abilities, the heir to the throne could not be underestimated. How would Prince Jun interpret Nino’s arrival? 

That likely depended on Nino’s abilities. If he could not compel the gods, he was no threat to Jun succeeding King Kotaro. But if Nino could not compel the gods, he’d be useless in Rumiko’s eyes, and then where would he end up? What side would he choose? Or, more likely, what side would even have him?

His mother had begged for him to be smarter than them. But there was so much he still didn’t know. He knew only the fragments that his father and Sho had explained. He knew what Rumiko had told him so far, all of it heavily biased. He knew nothing of the gods. And worse, he didn’t even know if he could use blood magic. He might be walking right into a trap. How could he be smart when he was at such a horrible disadvantage?

The tattoos. The only way to control the gods was with the tattoos. He expected that they’d be carved into his skin once he arrived in Amaterasu. He wasn’t looking forward to it, even if he attempted to use them for the opposite of their intended purpose. Seitaro had told him the process was painful.

“Perhaps this is a rude question for the breakfast table,” he said, trying to remain calm. “But may I see your tattoos? Will mine be the same?”

Rumiko seemed pleased with the question. She seemed to like any inquiry that was mostly about her. “Not rude, Kazunari. But they’re not for just anyone’s eyes. I’ll show you later.”

There were four members of the Kingsguard in the room. The symbols would remain hidden for now.

Later that day, Rumiko remembered his request. They were alone inside the royal litter, being borne across the sands. She got his attention with a squeeze of her hand to his knee. “I will show you the birthright that has been kept from you for so many years.”

He leaned forward, interested despite how much she frightened and disgusted him. Because he knew that whatever marked Rumiko would soon mark him. He had to know.

She needed to only push up the sleeve on her left arm just to the crook of her elbow. Nino couldn’t hide his gasp at the way her otherwise soft, pale skin was so brutally marred.

The skin on the inside of her arm had six distinct symbols running from the inside of her elbow to just above her wrist. It was apparently the language of the gods, and Nino didn’t recognize any of the symbols. Each symbol looked like a painful bruise, the symbols inked in a purple so dark it was almost black. The skin around each symbol looked sickly, a yellowish-brown, as though the flesh might rot any moment. 

Nino had seen people with tattoos on occasion. He’d never seen a tattoo look like the ones on his aunt’s arm. It was the blood magic, Nino realized. These were no ordinary tattoos.

“Does it…hurt?” he couldn’t help asking, feeling squeamish. Yukio had these? Kotaro had these? Generations of the Matsumoto royal family had these stretching back for centuries? Every single one?

“It hums a bit,” she replied, her fingertips brushing along the symbols. “It reminds me of my potential. My power. Always.”

He swallowed. “Mine will look like that?”

She chuckled, lowering her sleeve at his obvious discomfort. “What’s a little bit of pain when you can control a god?”

He stared at her. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said shakily. Even with them hidden away, he was certain he’d never forget what they looked like.

“Kazunari, relax. It will be years before yours are as powerful as mine. The longer you bear them, the longer the magic works in your blood, and the stronger you will become.” She smiled. “In time, you may come to find them beautiful, as I do.”

He doubted that. He highly doubted that.

The consequences of the blood magic, etched right into Rumiko’s skin. Soon those symbols would mar his own skin. They would hum if he possessed the ability to compel the gods, the same as his aunt’s. Or perhaps they would be silent, if he lacked the power. And yet they would always be there, a part of him. A reminder of the price Sorcerer Raku had willingly paid centuries ago for powers he didn’t deserve to wield.

“Could we stop?” he muttered. “I think my breakfast is disagreeing with me.”

Rumiko’s smile seemed almost sadistic as she called for the litter to be stopped. Nino nearly tumbled out of it, crawling across the sand to vomit.

—

Mud-brick walls a hundred feet high ringed the capital city of Amaterasu, and they entered through the South Gate with little fanfare. The city seemed no wealthier than the towns and villages Nino had passed through in the Water Finder caravan. It was simply larger. And darker. In many places the walls cast long shadows across the small, tightly-packed buildings within.

The foot soldiers carried the litter through the narrow streets, the cavalry to the front and back to ensure order was kept and the way remained clear. But Nino got the sense that people knew to steer clear simply at the sight of the blood red sun on the royal litter as it was carried through the streets.

Nino lifted the cloth only enough to look out from the slightly swaying litter. A crowded, labyrinthine city greeted him. The markets were full of glum faces arguing over prices while children hollered as they chased one another or cried in their mothers’ arms. Laborers were busy in the workshops they passed, hammering nails or stitching cloth. The air was ripe with the stink of unwashed people, animal shit, and commercial enterprise.

Amaterasu did have one key difference from the other towns in the Sun Kingdom.

The water.

There were pipes running all along the road, weathered copper tubes bolted to walls, snaking to and fro. He saw queues of humanity lined up at spigots placed at various points, their arms heavy with pots to carry the water home. At nearly every spigot, at nearly every well, a member of the Kingsguard stood by. It was a soldier who opened the tap or well cover in every instance. A soldier who told someone when their turn was over. Nino doubted everyone got their fair share. Disappointment was obvious in every face, but no complaints were uttered. All the water originated from the palace. The pipes could run dry on the king’s whim.

Nino looked back inside the litter. His aunt was utterly indifferent to the suffering all around them, the suffering of her people. The system in Amaterasu was one of utter dependence. Without the water trickling through those copper pipes, the citizens of the capital would easily die, especially with the high walls ringing the city and keeping them inside.

As the ride through the city progressed, the smell and the noise diminished a little. Instead of cramped multi-level tenements, the houses were spaced out more. Pipes were a bit more plentiful. Nino was able to observe a few unguarded wells, seeing women filling buckets and pots without a soldier looming over them. The neighborhood was home to merchants and other professionals. As the capital’s inner walls loomed ahead, the equally tall mud-brick that enclosed the royal palace and grounds, Nino saw bits of greenery emerge. Fenced-in estates with expanses of green grass and leafy trees. The estates of the aristocrats. Ornamental trees and plants were a luxury Nino had seen very rarely in his life. These were the homes that had a pipeline of water direct from the palace, so long as the family dwelling there remained in the King’s favor.

But yet all of this remained outside the palace grounds.

As they approached the palace gates, Nino felt ill. He’d made it here from the desert sands, carried past the kingdom’s neediest souls and then past the homes of those who lived well, simply because of the family they’d been born to. None of it was fair, and behind the walls just ahead, Nino knew that the greatest unfairness of all awaited.

For centuries, the royal family had lived in their own bubble. And now Nino would make his way inside. Would he ever make it out?

He heard the gate come crashing back down behind them, and he was inside now. “Behold your birthright, Kazunari,” Rumiko said, voice amused. Perhaps because she was accustomed to luxury.

Nino, of course, was not. 

He could barely comprehend what he was seeing. The grounds were extensive indeed. It would be another mile before they even reached the palace in the center. And you’d never know such an overwhelming place might exist in the middle of the desert. He could sense the change in the air. It was a place that had never experienced deprivation of any kind.

To his left, there were extensive facilities for the Kingsguard. Stone barracks, a mess hall, an armory. He could see men training in shallow sand pits, iron swords colliding with a clang while others cheered them on. And just beyond the pits lay an ornamental fountain, a metallic sunburst mounted in the center with water spraying whimsically from each ray.

To his right stretched a healthy orchard. Tilled earth and groves of orange trees, branches almost overburdened with fat fruit. The sight and the sharp, fresh scent perfuming the air made Nino’s mouth water.

The noisy, pebbled path to the palace was interrupted twice with the sounds of boots on arched wooden bridges. The litter was carried over two different trenches, each full of lazily flowing water. He’d never seen so much water in his life, and yet these were mere streams added to beautify the landscape. What had it taken, what had it cost, to create these streams where none had likely been before?

There was so much greenery, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The palace gardens went on for acres - soaring palm trees, shrubs, and manicured bushes as high as a man’s shoulder. Plants with blooms in a variety of colors. Rose bushes and flower beds. Irrigation channels and small fountains, with simple stone benches dotting the landscape at obviously planned intervals. In the distance, he could see a gardening crew trimming branches and filling watering cans at one of the fountains. The staff paid little mind to any water that leaked out of their cans, letting it hit the stone where it would simply dry as though it had never existed. 

The pathways through the gardens were solid stone, broken into gently declining steps to more easily integrate with the hilly terrain. The paths were all split right up the middle, a shallow channel of fresh water flowing along, easing its way downhill.

The main palace loomed ahead, a fortress of tan brick similar to those used to build the capital’s walls. The perimeter walls rose three stories high, solid brick for the first two stories while the top floor was open to the air. The entire perimeter was lined with rounded arches and marble columns, iron railings running along between each column to keep anyone from falling to the courtyard below. Even at a distance, Nino could see people walking the passageways, Kingsguard standing in place, and courtiers leaning against the railings to look out at the expansive palace grounds.

The litter was deposited in an outside courtyard, and Rumiko exited first. Nino followed, stepping down onto the dark stone. “I will arrange for you to meet with Father,” Rumiko said as a swarm of servants and grooms came for the litter and the horses respectively. “Come, I’ll bring you to your rooms.”

He looked back as he crossed the courtyard, seeing Sho only for a brief moment as he was helped down from one of the horses. Would he ever see him again? Soon enough Nino was inside, walking across intricately tiled floors as he followed at a respectful distance. The sound of boots behind him reminded him that there was no escape.


	3. Chapter 3

Each room and hall was more beautiful than the last. Some were enclosed while others were open to one of the inner courtyards, the open passages lined with more columns and arches. Many columns had vines woven around them, colorful blooms filling the entire palace with their scent as the breeze caught it. Each inner courtyard he spotted boasted a fountain or pool of its own. Mere afterthoughts. This water was simply there for aesthetic reasons, nothing more. Everywhere Nino walked he could hear the fall of water, and the abundance of it made him ill. 

He was finally brought down a long passageway. Four maidservants in red robes bowed low to him as he arrived. Rumiko had likely sent word ahead of their caravan so that rooms would already be prepared for him. It seemed that all the servants of the palace wore red, the same as Sho. A reminder of the red rising sun. Each, however, wore a black ribbon around their arms. Sho hadn’t had one of those. 

It was doubtful that the rooms he’d inherited were the fanciest in the palace, but the luxury within still left him unable to find words. It was a series of three connected rooms. The first was a sitting room of simple tatami mats adorned with a low table, red cushions, and a taller side table that might hold refreshments. There were walls on three sides, the fourth open to the air like many of the other passageways he’d come through. Thin silk curtains might be pulled closed for privacy, but otherwise there was a small courtyard all his own with a small round pool in the center. He was almost grateful for the lack of a fountain. He wasn’t sure he could bear the constant noise, the constant reminder.

The second room was a private bedchamber, walled on all sides. It was simply but elegantly appointed with a large bed, side tables, and a chest of drawers for whatever clothing he might be issued. The final room was a private washroom dominated by a large tub for bathing with its own faucet. There was also a faucet attached to the tiled wall along with a wash bucket and wooden stool. A screen decorated with pelicans hid a chamber pot behind it.

The three rooms put together were larger than most of the homes he’d stayed in the last several days. And those homes had been considerably larger than the caravan tents. What was he to do with all this empty space? Well, he supposed that depended on whatever magical abilities he possessed. If he had none, Nino doubted he’d be staying in these rooms much longer.

Rumiko departed, explaining that she would go straight to the king to notify him of their arrival. “It will be up to Father if he wishes to address the servant matter right away,” Rumiko explained, irritated at having to say so at all. Whether Sho lived or died was of no concern to her.

With his aunt gone, the very timid maidservants quietly entered the sitting room, kneeling before him and pressing their foreheads to the floor. Was this the life his mother had led before leaving Amaterasu? He simply couldn’t imagine a woman of Ninomiya Kazuko’s toughness and independence bowing so meekly to anyone.

One of the maidservants, likely the senior among them, was the only one to speak. “If your chambers are not to your liking, Your Highness, we most humbly apologize. You need only tell us how we might please you.”

He didn’t particularly like her phrasing, thinking of his mother again. Had it been this way with Prince Yukio? Had she sought to please him? Had she mistaken that for genuine affection?

“When no one else is in this room, I will not allow you to kneel to me.”

This registered as pure shock on the senior maidservant’s face as she looked up at him. “Your Highness?”

“Do what is considered proper when I have guests,” he continued. “But otherwise, you will not kneel to me again. Is that understood?”

She nodded, slowly rising to her feet. The other three did the same, though none of them would meet his eyes. Their behavior worried him. They didn’t know him. They knew only that he was royal and for that, they were horribly afraid of him. Nino didn’t want to know how other members of his new family treated their servants.

“The black ribbon, around your arms,” he inquired. “What does it symbolize?” The red he could understand…but the black…

“We are in mourning here,” the maidservant explained. “For Prince Yukio, may the Gods favor him.”

“May the Gods favor him,” the other three chimed in an instant later.

He couldn’t quite read their faces. He couldn’t tell if they genuinely mourned the loss of his father or not. In time, he’d have to figure it out. He’d need allies here, as many as he could find, if he was going to survive.

“It’s been a long journey,” he said. “I wish to be left alone to rest.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

The four left in a flurry of red, closing the door softly behind them. Nino removed the boots his aunt had given him, flinging them in a corner of his new sitting room. He walked out into the courtyard, crouching down beside the small pool of water. Looking up, the courtyard was private, solid walls closing him in. He set his hand in the water, finding it cool despite the sun bearing down on the capital. He flicked droplets away, annoyed at the waste, as he got to his feet.

He walked the perimeter of the pool, examining the high walls, nervousness growing. He had privacy, but he would not be able to escape. There were no handholds in the brick, and he’d never be able to scale three stories with nothing to hold on to. He thought he saw a flash of color from the corner of his eye, a sudden movement. He turned, looking up to the wall behind him.

Nobody there, but he could have sworn…

Well, that didn’t matter. But he’d learned something. It wasn’t as private here as he thought. Someone might sit on the palace roof and look down. He headed back inside, drawing the silk curtains with a huff. There was much he’d need to learn.

—

It was an entire day before anyone but the maidservants came to his room. He’d been served a large dinner the night before, gently informing the lead maid, Mirei, to bring him only a fraction as much food in the future. She had been confused once again—what kind of man would eat so little when the palace offered him so much?

They’d come again in the morning to empty his chamber pot, change the soft bedsheets, and bring in clothing. He’d had to stop Mirei just before she added rose-scented oils to his bathwater. He’d look the part of a prince, but he’d rather smell clean than aristocratic.

It was an older gentleman who came to his chambers that afternoon just after his midday meal. Nino was almost grateful for the intrusion. There’d been Kingsguard posted at his door overnight, and there’d been nothing in the room to do but read through the few books of flowery poetry that had been left there.

The man was not in the red robes of servants, but his clothes weren’t as fine as the new ones Nino had been brought. The black ribbon for Yukio was tied around his arm, however, the same as the servants. The same as the one tied around Nino’s own sleeve now, hoping to fit in. 

The man was middle-aged, balding, clever-eyed. “My name is Takahashi, Your Highness,” the man said. “I am an advisor to King Kotaro. You’ve been summoned.”

He rose to his feet, hoping he didn’t look frightened or rushed. He was royal now, so he supposed he ought to act a bit more spoiled than he was used to. “Very well. I will come with you.”

Takahashi led him from his chambers and back through the maze of passageways that made up the royal palace. Yesterday he’d been too awestruck by all the water, all the ivy and vines, to make much sense of where he seemed to have been placed. There were more people in the passages this afternoon. Those in red moved quietly, discreetly. Those in clothes like Takahashi’s moved about comfortably. 

It seemed like Nino’s chambers were in one wing of the palace, perhaps a more residential area. The longer they walked along, the more people dressed like Takahashi appeared. Advisors and high-ranking staff. Bureaucrats rather than full-time palace residents. All wore the black ribbons of mourning. How many were sincere? How many were worn for appearance’s sake?

Rumiko was waiting outside of the arched double doors Takahashi led him to. She seemed to approve of Nino’s new clothes as well as the shave he’d given himself that morning, not that he’d sprouted many new hairs in the last day or two. He knew he looked royal now. He knew he looked as though he belonged, rose-scented baths aside.

Rumiko stood by his side, grinning at him. He offered her his arm, trying not to shake when she took it, holding him tightly. Nino felt as though he was Rumiko’s most prized possession. He wondered what the king might think of that.

Takahashi nodded for the Kingsguard posted at the doors to open them. Nino felt Rumiko’s breath against his ear.

“Stand tall. Be strong, no matter how he makes you feel.”

The king? 

He had no chance to ask his question as the doors swung open to reveal the royal audience chamber. It was a long room with soaring, vaulted ceilings. Marble arches and columns lined the solid walls, and a deep red rug split the room up the middle as it led to a raised dais with a white marble throne.

He swallowed nervously as he entered, Rumiko encouraging him to walk proudly up the rug rather than on the black and white checkerboard-patterned tile. The chamber might hold hundreds, but for now there were only a handful of people inside. Nino tried not to react when he saw the two men from the Kingsguard standing just before the two steps up to the dais, Sakurai Sho shoved to his knees before them.

The throne was occupied by a rather frail old man, his skin wrinkled and sallow, his body overburdened with heavy-looking red robes covered in embroidered golden suns. His face was stern but calm, watching carefully as Nino entered. Thinking it unwise to stare the leader of the Sun Kingdom right in the face, he decided to focus his attention instead to the tall man in the rather simple green tunic and dark trousers standing just behind the throne to the right.

This was a mistake.

Their eyes met, and Nino nearly tripped over his own feet when a sudden, cool wave seemed to wash over him, leaving him shivering. He blinked, trying to regain his footing, Rumiko’s grip on him tightening as she urged him forward.

The look on the man’s face softened. He was handsome, with long limbs and a slim build. Everything about him was as human as could be. And yet Nino couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were brown, not a far cry from the color of Nino’s own eyes, but there was something in them that hooked on to him, tight and unyielding, a stronger pull than even Rumiko’s grip. What was this feeling? Nino didn’t know it. Nino had never felt it before. Not in his happiest or lowest moments.

Somehow he continued putting one foot in front of the other, but it felt like the rest of him had gone numb. He was upright, he was in motion, and yet he felt paralyzed at the same time. There was a word for what he saw in the strange man’s eyes. One simple, undeniable word.

Power.

The man broke eye contact first, looking down with a soft smile, his dark brown hair falling across his face to obscure his eyes. He clearly found something funny.

Be strong, Rumiko had said. No matter how he makes you feel.

She hadn’t been speaking about King Kotaro, had she?

Released from the sharp pull of the man in green, Nino realized that he was shivering. Positively shaking with cold, his jaw trembling even though there was only the lightest breeze inside the warm audience chamber. What the hell had just happened?

“Kneel and pay your respects to Father,” Rumiko whispered as they moved ahead of the soldiers, ahead of the kneeling and imprisoned Sakurai Sho.

Nino, still shaking, let his arm fall back to his side, kneeling on the first stair before the throne. “Your Majesty,” he managed to say. In the presence of the king and the strange man beside him, Nino could barely move. He stared at the rug beneath him, trying to focus on the fact that Sho was still alive, willing himself to be still.

“You are Kazunari,” the king said, his voice rasping with his advanced age. The now-deceased Yukio had been in his early sixties. The king himself was pushing ninety years.

“I am, Your Majesty,” he replied, not raising his head.

“Our meeting comes at a momentous time. It was my son’s decision, may the Gods favor him, to keep you from me.” The king cleared his throat, an ugly, sickening sound. “Let me look upon you and know that you are my blood.”

Taking a breath, Nino looked up and into the king’s aged face. He felt a shiver go down his spine. If he moved his eyes just to the right, he’d be looking at the man in green again. He didn’t want to. He didn’t know how he’d react. Instead he met the eyes of his grandfather for the first time.

What Matsumoto Kotaro saw didn’t seem to please him much.

“You are small,” the king scoffed, raising his eyebrows. “Bones.”

“He was raised among poor desert drifters,” Rumiko piped up, her voice tinged with pity. Nino tried not to react. “They hunch over in their ragged tents and subsist on nuts and berries. It is no wonder he looks the way he does, Father.”

Nino had never considered himself to be a tall man, but he had never been around many people who were. He still stood a full head taller than his mother and a few inches taller than Seitaro, but after days in the company of the Kingsguard, he knew that he was smaller than most men of the capital. Desert peoples ate little, traveled continuously. It was not a life that made you fat, nor was it a life that left you tall. He’d never felt shame about it before, and he wasn’t about to start now. But being insufficient in the eyes of the king was not going to start him off on the right foot politically.

“I am who I am, Your Majesty,” he said quietly.

“You are mine, though,” Kotaro rasped. “I see it in your eyes. You look as I did at your age…well, if I had been an emaciated desert rat.”

He swallowed, smiling bitterly as his stomach turned. His grandfather was as blunt and unkind as his horrible daughter. “Perhaps now that I am finally where I belong I’ll fatten up in a manner that pleases you, Your Majesty.”

His gamble paid off, the old man laughing in reply. Rumiko laughed as well, at least until the king gave her an exasperated look when her chuckles went on longer than his.

“You have a Matsumoto tongue as well, Kazunari,” Kotaro said. “But the only thing that truly matters is what none of us can see right now. Your blood.”

Nino nodded in understanding.

“Traditionally, those of our bloodline receive the markings when they come of age…at twenty. You are the same age as Jun?”

“A few months older,” Rumiko said. “Thirty-four years now.”

Nino’s birthday had come and gone yesterday, and he hadn’t even realized it. 

“I don’t need you to be his mouth when yours is already overused,” Kotaro snapped, and for the first time, Nino saw Rumiko chastened, hesitant. She merely smiled, taking a step back. Father and daughter did not see eye to eye in all things. Nino remembered the bangle on Rumiko’s leg, suppressing her powers.

“My dear aunt is correct,” Nino said. “I have reached thirty-four years.”

“Our court remains in mourning for the next three months,” Kotaro said, eyeing Nino warily. “You will be marked without any ceremony. I’d rather know your blood now than when mourning is lifted. I’m sure your father would have wished for it, as well. For your birthright to be recognized sooner rather than later.”

“It would be an honor, Your Majesty,” he replied quietly, trying to keep calm even as he remembered how the tattoos had looked on Rumiko’s arm. Soon a matching set would be on his.

“One week from today so you might settle in,” the king decided, cracking a brown-toothed smile. “Fatten up. You may stand.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will be ready,” he replied, finally getting back to his feet. Could the old man sense his fear?

“Then there is the other matter, I’ve been told,” the king continued. “My daughter claims that you have a request regarding the traitor behind you.”

Nino couldn’t help turning, seeing that Sho had not moved a muscle since Nino had entered the audience chamber. His red robes were gone, and he’d been dressed in a simple tan tunic and bottoms. He hadn’t been given any shoes, and his dirty feet marred the otherwise pristine tile beneath him.

His face lifted just a little, and Nino held in a gasp at the sight of his sunburnt face, the red interrupted here and there by bruises and a black eye that had left him swollen and in obvious agony. Who knew what had been done to the rest of him that Nino couldn’t see?

Nino turned back to the king and inclined his head in acknowledgment. There was a slight buzzing in his ears, the hair on the back of his neck rising when his eyes quickly moved past the mysterious man in green. It wasn’t as strong as it had first been, but it was still there. That depth of feeling, that chill.

“Yes, Your Majesty, if you’ll be so kind as to allow it.”

“We’ll see what I allow, my blood,” the old man said in a sly tone, moving a little in his chair, his gnarled old hands gripping the arms of it.

“Sakurai Sho was a loyal, trusted servant of my father,” he said before quickly adding, “may the Gods favor him.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw the man in green smirk. He ignored it, pushing forward. He’d barely slept the night before, trying to think of what he might say if called upon to argue for Sho’s life. He still wasn’t certain he’d be successful. And having Sho here, Sho covered in bruises, made him all the more unsure. What if he failed? Would he have to watch Sho die?

“I understand fully that coming to find me meant that he abandoned his post here at the palace, a treasonous offense, especially considering the dishonor the Sakurai family showed to ours so many years ago. However, he was acting at the behest of my dear departed father, who wished only to see me. To meet the son he’d never known. Perhaps if circumstances had been different, Prince Yukio would have been able to stand here at my side so that three generations of this honorable bloodline might be united in one room…”

The king’s expression was unreadable, but he said nothing.

“Unfortunately that is not the case, and it pains me that I will never get to know the man who fathered me,” Nino said softly, hoping he sounded genuine. “Prince Yukio will never get to witness the joy I feel standing here at the center of this family’s power. He will never get to know what it feels for me to meet the family hidden from me for so many years. The grandfather who watches over our kingdom. The dear aunt who has studied our long and noble heritage…”

He could feel the man in green watching him now, and he clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from shaking. Who was he? Was he seeing right through Nino’s lies?

“My father valued Sakurai Sho’s counsel. My father trusted Sakurai Sho. Since I can never know my father, would it not benefit me to learn of his strengths and his character from one who knew him well? I ask, Your Majesty, for Sakurai Sho to serve me. To guide me here in Amaterasu. I know very little of your ways and customs here at court, Grandfather, and…”

“That will be enough.”

Nino stopped talking, caught off guard. He watched a bitter smile cross the old man’s face.

“You are Yukio’s son, though you never met,” the king said. “The way you’ve just spoken makes it all too obvious.”

He looked down at the rug, trying not to tremble. 

“Yukio spoke this way years ago trying to ensure that this traitor’s father continued to draw breath. He’s still alive, isn’t he, traitor?”

Sho’s voice was weak, shaky. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Weakness runs in that bloodline,” Kotaro chided. “Traitor father, traitor son.”

“Your Majesty,” Nino mumbled despite himself, “if Sakurai Sho chose not to follow my father’s orders, would that not also have been treasonous behavior?”

“You spoke truth when you said you know little of our ways and customs here!” the king snapped, raising his voice loud enough to ring in Nino’s ears. As weak as the old man was, he quaked with sudden rage.

Nino knelt again, inclining his head. “I apologize, Grandfather…”

“My son stuck his wandering cock into a loose little serving girl’s cunt thirty-four years ago, and this is what it brought me! A weakling and a fool!”

The old man’s rage shook Nino to the core, and he lowered his head even further. Breathe, he told himself. Breathe.

“Father,” Rumiko interrupted, walking up to the throne and boldly stroking the old man’s arm. “The deserts have left the poor boy weak-willed, but let’s not dismiss him outright. His judgment may be lacking, but his blood may yet be strong. Strong as mine or perhaps even yours.”

He wasn’t sure if he appreciated Rumiko’s defense of him or not at this point. Because it was all too clear that Nino had lost. His argument in favor of saving Sho’s life wasn’t going to work. He looked over, aching at the sight of Sho’s battered face.

Nino jolted when the double doors at the rear of the chamber suddenly opened. He stayed down on his knees, looking back as a man came strutting in as though nothing in the world bothered him. 

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and of an age with Nino. He carried himself proudly, wearing a purple tunic and dark fitted trousers, his simple pair of wooden sandals scuffing along the floor. His black hair was slicked back away from his face, and he was munching on an apple as he came strolling up the middle of the chamber, an almost mischievous look in his dark eyes. 

The king’s scowl deepened. “You’re late. I summoned you an hour ago, you insolent whelp.”

The man grinned, showing off a large mouth of gleaming white teeth. He took another leisurely bite of his apple, juice dribbling down his chin until he wiped at it with the back of his hand.

“Grandfather,” the man said in a droll tone. “I was having lunch.”

Nino’s eyes widened. This man…he was...

“Auntie,” Prince Jun continued, offering a rather impish salute in Rumiko’s direction. “Always good to see you out of your cage.”

The air in the room had suddenly shifted. The crude anger the king had been aiming in Nino’s direction had quickly changed target. Rumiko looked almost murderous, standing beside her father, the strange man in green on the other side still making Nino uncomfortable.

Matsumoto Jun, the Sun Kingdom’s heir presumptive, took in the sight of the two members of the Kingsguard, the injured Sakurai Sho at their feet. Nodding indifferently, he finally turned his gaze in Nino’s direction, his brown eyes almost glittering with contempt.

“So the rumors were true,” Prince Jun said before looking away and back to the king, offering a rather outrageous attempt at a bow. “Apologies for my tardiness. What’d I miss?”

Nino didn’t have the courage yet to get to his feet, and Matsumoto Jun…his half-brother stood at his side. There was little they shared in common physically. Where Nino was slim, Jun was firm and muscled. He was similar in size to the members of the Kingsguard, although his waist was narrower and there was none of their discipline.

“This is your elder brother Kazunari,” the king said, eyebrow raised in challenge.

Jun just laughed, taking another bite of his apple. “My replacement, Grandfather? This scrawny fellow? Don’t joke, now.”

“Nobody’s laughing, Jun,” Kotaro said, leaning forward in his seat. “The only joke in the room at present is you.”

Any man might have been offended. Any man might have been angered. But instead Nino watched the smile on Prince Jun’s face widen. The prince who couldn’t wield the power of the bloodline smiling at the insult from the man he was set to replace. Nino hadn’t known what to really think of Prince Jun when Rumiko had spoken of him, but he certainly hadn’t expected…this.

“Welcome to the family, Kazunari,” Jun said, patting him on the head like a dog. “It’s a most loving one as you can see.”

“As you’ve managed to pull yourself away from your whoring long enough to show your face in my chamber,” Kotaro continued, “perhaps you might offer an opinion on a certain matter.”

Jun chuckled. “Since when has my opinion ever been valued around here?”

Kotaro pointed to Sakurai Sho. “Your father’s pet.”

Jun set a hand on his hip, the black mourning ribbon tied sloppily around his arm jostling lightly. “What about him?”

Nino tried to focus on breathing, hearing the indifference in Jun’s voice. How much weight did the heir to the throne’s opinion have over Sakurai Sho’s fate? He’d only been in the room a minute, maybe more, but already Nino could sense the animosity between grandfather and grandson, between king and likely successor. Would King Kotaro accept Jun’s counsel or do the opposite to spite him?

“Kazunari argues that it was only following your father’s orders, leaving the palace to track him down on Yukio’s behalf.”

Jun looked over at Sho, chuckling gently. “He’s always been obedient.”

Nino couldn’t help but notice that unlike the king and Rumiko, Matsumoto Jun at least acknowledged Sho’s humanity.

“Kazunari feels this is good enough reason to keep it alive,” the king said. He stared Jun down. “Your father, may the Gods favor him, kept Kazunari’s existence secret all these years, and yet he finally took the risk of contacting him. I wonder why he made such a decision.”

At this Nino could finally see the slightest crack in Jun’s disaffected mask. But he hid it very well. Jealousy. Anger.

Fear.

“Yes,” Jun said calmly. “I wonder.”

“You understand the gravity of the crime that’s been committed here,” the king said. “Unless I’ve overestimated your intelligence once again.”

Jun didn’t take the bait, instead walking over to Sho. He crouched down, taking hold of Sho by the hair and pulling his head up to look him in the face. Nino didn’t miss the look of disgust that briefly flashed across Jun’s face when Sho moaned gently in pain.

“Ouch,” Jun said with a wince, shaking his head. 

Nino wanted to slug him, this brother he didn’t know. Didn’t anyone in this room have a conscience? A soul?

Jun loosened his grip, hand sliding down from Sho’s scalp to cup his bruised face. “When’s the last time he’s been fed, hmm?”

“Does it matter?” Rumiko scoffed.

Jun clucked his tongue in annoyance, tapping Sho’s cheek with his fingers. “Open.” Nino watched Sho obediently open his mouth as Prince Jun set his half-eaten apple between his lips. “Bite.”

Sho obeyed, entire body trembling as he bit into the Prince’s apple. Nino didn’t know what the hell to think. The king watched, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. Rumiko looked impatient. Jun’s voice was insistent but quiet. “Bite,” he ordered. “Chew. Swallow. Bite again.”

“If you’re done toying with it, would you like to rejoin the conversation?” Rumiko grumbled.

Jun cruelly left the apple in Sho’s mouth, juice sliding messily down Sho’s chin as the prince got back to his feet. Sho could only hold it there between his teeth or risk letting the remainder of the Prince’s lunch fall and hit the floor.

“My father sent Sho to find Kazunari without informing you, Grandfather. Such an act is treasonous,” Jun decided.

Nino finally got to his feet, nearly sick to death of these people, this horrible family. “Wait a moment…”

Jun looked down at him, amused. “However, there’s something we all ought to consider.”

“And what is that, Jun?” Kotaro asked. “Do enlighten us.”

Nino watched as Jun slowly tugged at the black ribbon tied around his sleeve. Holding it in his fist, Jun walked up the two steps to the throne, standing before their grandfather and letting the ribbon dance back and forth.

“Sho was merely following the orders of his master. A master who we will be mourning for the next three months, as is proper. As is our family’s custom.” Jun inclined his head. “May the Gods favor him.”

Kotaro waved his hand impatiently for Jun to continue.

“I propose a stay of execution,” Jun said, settling his ribbon in the pocket of his trousers. “At least until the mourning period is complete. After all, he is a most loyal servant.”

Nino watched Jun walk over, holding out his hand beneath Sho’s chin. Sho opened his mouth just a bit wider, letting the apple fall into Jun’s palm. Jun turned back to the king with a smile.

“Are we really killing servants for obedience now, Grandfather?”

“And if it continues its treasonous ways?” Rumiko fumed. “Once a traitor to the crown, always a traitor.”

Jun smirked. “I doubt he’d be that foolish. Anyhow, a messy execution during a period of mourning is disrespectful to the gods.” Nino watched Jun’s eyes move to the man in green. “Isn’t that right, Masaki?”

Nino looked up, finally seeing the man in green for what he truly was. The chill Nino had felt even in the heat. The way he stood behind the king’s throne, silent, a mere observer. The look in his eyes that Nino realized now wasn’t human.

The man in green, the man Prince Jun had just called “Masaki,” was not a man at all, was he?

He was one of the sons of the God of the Waters. Everything was true. _Everything_.

Masaki didn’t speak, only bowing his head to the king’s heir in acknowledgment.

Nino couldn’t look away, barely understanding what happened next. There was a ringing in his ears. He saw the man in green turn to look at him, a not-quite smile quirking the man’s lips. Friend? Foe? Nino couldn’t tell. But they were all in the presence of a god. The man standing behind the throne was a god walking amongst them. 

A god under the king’s control.

The king spoke, setting a date for Sho’s execution - as Jun had suggested, he would be put to death a week after the palace emerged from mourning. Three months. Nino at least had three months to find another way to save him. Rumiko wished for Sho to be thrown in the palace dungeons. The king disagreed. 

“It belongs to Kazunari now. Let it at least be useful to my ignorant grandson for the remainder of its days.”

At that pronouncement, the Kingsguard dragged Sho away. Nino bowed low to his grandfather in thanks and was dismissed.

He followed a laughing Matsumoto Jun from the audience chamber, watching him take another bite of his apple as he lazily strolled away from the throne. Nino didn’t dare look back, feeling the eyes of the god watching him as he left.

—

Takahashi offered to give Nino a grand tour of the palace grounds, but he declined, postponing it until the following day. Much had happened, though he could show none of that weakness to Takahashi.

Instead he made it back to his rooms, trying to gather his wits. Matsumoto Kotaro. Matsumoto Jun. And Masaki, son of the God of the Waters.

Too much. It was all too much.

A dinner tray was brought to him when the sun set, and Mirei had followed his orders exactly. But even the small meal turned his stomach, and he picked at it, feeling completely out of his element.

He replayed the scene in the audience chamber again and again. How the king had treated him. How Matsumoto Jun had treated him. In a week, he’d be tattooed and his training in magic would begin. He would learn if he had the power to control the gods.

He thought of how Masaki had stood there, a silent observer of the court squabbles over a traitorous servant. Nino had trembled in his presence, in the presence of a god. It seemed impossible that their positions might be reversed, that Nino might come to control someone who seemed so powerful even without uttering a word.

He slept poorly, consumed with nightmares that slipped away as soon as he managed to wake. He sat on a cushion in his sitting room as the sun rose, feeling empty as the maids bustled around his chamber with their quiet efficiency.

Takahashi returned for him mid-morning, and Nino did his best to seem attentive as the man led him slowly around the palace. He nodded with little enthusiasm as he was shown grand banquet rooms, a library full to bursting with scrolls and other priceless literary items, offices for those staffing the royal treasury. Rooms that existed only to house paintings and sculptures. A greenhouse overseen by Princess Mariya.

The royal advisor didn’t bother showing him the upper floors. Those were the servants’ quarters, and Nino was told that there wasn’t much to see. He was also informed that there were extensive bathing facilities underground, accessible from the royal wing where Nino was staying, but that Prince Jun and “some friends” were currently utilizing them and did not wish to be disturbed. Nino had definitely seen the look of disapproval in Takahashi’s face when he’d spoken of Jun’s “friends.” Perhaps he was pleased that a new potential heir had arrived…

The tour concluded on one of the balconies overlooking the palace gardens, Nino leaning against the railing, looking at the soaring walls in the distance. Feeling isolated. And trapped. “Did you know my father, Takahashi?”

The man stood beside him, nodding. “Of course, Your Highness. May the Gods favor him.”

The expected and diplomatic response. He know that he couldn’t trust the man, not yet anyway. “I’m a stranger here,” Nino said cautiously. “I was never able to meet him. Is there anything you think I should know about him?”

“What is it that you wish to know?”

He turned his head, seeing mere curiosity on the advisor’s face. 

“Do I resemble him?” Nino asked.

Takahashi was quiet for a moment as a member of the Kingsguard continued on a patrol behind them. When the soldier was out of earshot, Takahashi’s reply was rather quiet.

“Yes, Your Highness. You do resemble him.”

It was Mirei who found him, inclining her head as she approached in a flurry of red a few moments later. “Your Highness,” Mirei said, “I am sorry to interrupt.”

“What is it?”

“You have a visitor. In your chambers.”

His stomach knotted. Was it Rumiko? Was it Jun? Was it another palace player who had yet to meet him?

“Very well,” he said agreeably before clapping Takahashi on the shoulder. “I thank you for your most informative tour.”

He followed Mirei down a staircase, through several passageways that gradually became more familiar as the path to his own chambers. Like they had upon his arrival, his maidservants were all huddled outside his door, dropping low at his approach since they were still outside his rooms.

“Who is it?” he finally asked when Mirei paused before his door. He thought he’d be largely left alone until he was tattooed.

He realized that Mirei and the other girls were struggling to keep from crying. “They just left him there with no instructions…I wasn’t sure what to do, Your Highness,” Mirei explained.

Nino opened the door nervously before crying out in shock. He quickly urged the four women inside, shutting the door. “Help me move him into the other room…into the bed…”

Sakurai Sho lay in a heap on the floor of Nino’s sitting room, the tatami mats near him smeared with his blood. Nino rushed over, gently turning Sho over onto his back. A soft moan let Nino know that Sho was still alive, but he was in bad shape. He didn’t want to know what had happened between his audience with the king yesterday and his arrival today.

Nino got his arms under Sho’s while the women helped to lift him. Slowly they brought him into Nino’s bedchamber, settling him carefully onto the sheets. He was still in the drab clothing from the day before, and Nino rested a hand on his head.

“Sho, can you hear me?”

One of the maids burst into tears in fright. They seemed to know that Sakurai Sho was a servant too, one of their own. What happened to him might happen to her if she ever went astray.

When he finally got another moan from Sho in reply, Nino knew he had to focus. He ordered two of the maids to gather water and cloth. Sho’s wounds and filthy, blistered feet would need to be cleaned first. “I will need several things, and I will need them quickly,” he told Mirei. “Can you write?”

She shook her head. “No, Your Highness. But my memory is good.”

He didn’t know the palace doctors, and he didn’t know if he could trust any of them to provide Sho with adequate care. No, he’d handle this himself. Nino spoke slowly, naming each item he required. A mortar and pestle. Each plant, each herb. Mirei repeated them all, and once he was confident, he sent her and the other maid off to retrieve them. 

For once, Nino was grateful for the abundant water in his chambers. Between the three of them who remained in Nino’s chambers, they were able to ease the dirty clothing from Sho’s bruised body, washing the dirt and dried blood from his skin. The white sheets beneath him grew stained, and the maids quickly worked around him once his body was cleaned, changing to fresh ones. While Sho’s body was covered in bruises, he thankfully didn’t seem to have any broken bones.

The king had postponed Sho’s execution. And until that day, it seemed that Sakurai Sho had been left for Nino to deal with.

It was another hour before Mirei returned, arms overburdened with the items Nino had demanded. He didn’t know what she’d had to do or say to get them, but she’d come through and for that, Nino was grateful.

“You are a healer,” the youngest maid, Kanna, mumbled as Nino started to pull items together and grind them. “You are a prince and yet you are a healer.”

He looked up, smiling bitterly. “I’ve been a healer for far longer than I’ve been a prince. I’ll fix him.”

“May the Gods favor you,” one of the other maids mumbled.

He met each of their faces with a seriousness they quickly understood. “You will tell no one that I am skilled in medicine. No one.” He didn’t want to reveal everything about himself just yet. Who knew how his grandfather might react.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mirei replied, the other girls also murmuring their agreement.

Now that he had what he needed, he set to work, dismissing them. He was pleased when he heard gentle snoring. Sho was as comfortable as he was likely to get. After days sleeping in stables, he deserved a decent rest.

Healing came easier to Nino than so many other things, and he was able to focus better than he had in days. There were a few lacerations that he stitched closed first, rubbing them with a salve that would prevent infection and wrapping each wound with clean cloth. He made his usual cream for sunburn, rubbing it across Sho’s face, neck, and arms that had borne the brunt of the sun’s cruelty. He tended to the blisters on Sho’s feet and finally pressed cold compresses against Sho’s face to start easing the swelling. The water that emerged from the faucet in his washroom was fresh, cold, and clean. He tried not to think about how it had gotten there.

By the time the sun had set, Nino actually found himself hungry. Mirei seemed to anticipate that, bringing him a tray overburdened with rice, grilled meat, and pickled vegetables. She told Nino to rest while she and another maid worked to spoon some warm broth into Sho’s mouth in the other room. Nino doubted Sho had had anything in his belly besides the teasing bites of Prince Jun’s apple since yesterday.

Before he knew it, he was asleep, rising in the morning to discover that he’d slept in a cluster of cushions on his sitting room floor, the silk curtains rusting in the breeze.

Nino moved to the next room, finding Sakurai Sho sitting upright with pillows behind him. At some point during the night Mirei or the other girls had probably come in to help him get more comfortable, letting Nino sleep while they rubbed some of the pastes and salves Nino had made onto him. He grinned when he saw that the well-meaning maids had rubbed the sunburn cream diligently but needlessly onto Sho’s pale feet.

Sho was awake, one eye still swollen shut but the other watching him cautiously.

“Good morning,” Nino said, able to speak to the man for the first time since they’d departed Toyone-mura.

“Good morning,” Sho replied quietly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Sho shook his head slowly, clearly pained. “You did save me, Nino. I ought to be dead right now…I can’t begin to thank you…”

“I couldn’t even win you a reprieve on my own. You have my brother to thank for your remaining days.”

Sho looked away.

Nino approached the bed, sitting at the end by Sho’s feet. “Quite the family I have here.”

“Yes indeed.”

“I don’t even know where to start. I have so many questions.”

“I can imagine,” Sho whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been gifted to me,” he said. “I asked for you to be able to serve me as you served my father.”

“It would be my honor.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want another servant, Sho. I want a friend. Will you be my friend?”

Sho’s hands twisted in the sheets, clearly surprised. “Of course.”

Nino got up. “I would see you be well again before I pry answers from you. But I’ll ask you to confirm one thing for me now.”

“Anything,” Sho answered sincerely.

“The man in the audience chamber, the one who stood behind my grandfather’s throne. The one called Masaki.” Nino took a breath. “He’s one of them, isn’t he?”

Sho nodded. Nino hadn’t even had to say the word. 

Nino settled his hands on his hips. “They really do look like us then?”

“Yes.”

“He knows who I am. What I have the potential to do,” Nino said. “He must hate me.”

At that, Sho shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“I’ve been brought here to control him, the same as my father and grandfather and the generations before me.”

“Yes, you have,” Sho said, “but you will find that he is not what you might expect.”

“And his brother…there is another one who is trapped here, yes?”

Sho’s expression shifted. His expression grew more serious. “Yes.”

“And what does the brother think of me? Care to venture a guess?”

Sho’s words were grim. 

“Pray that your interactions with him are brief. That’s all I can advise you.”


	4. Chapter 4

The royal court was a busy one. Nino was free to roam the grounds at his leisure, though he was not yet allowed into several areas. His grandfather’s audience chamber and vast suite of rooms were off limits since Nino was still considered illegitimate, a guest of the court rather than an official member of it.

Takahashi or another advisor was usually sent to escort him around, to keep him from visiting locations forbidden to him. Nino figured it was best to make his face known around court than hide away in his chambers and arouse even more suspicion. Many welcomed him, inclining their heads as they passed him in the halls. A few others were colder, but he suspected those people might be more loyal to Prince Jun. Nino’s sudden appearance at court was an open threat to the succession…unless he was proved to be just as powerless as his brother.

He walked the palace grounds, members of the Kingsguard trailing him through the maze of bushes, along the orchard groves. He stood watching the soldiers train, swords colliding as Kanna held a parasol over his head to keep his skin from baking in the sun. On his walks, he did his best to examine the gates. The palace’s doorways and exits. There was always someone around. He doubted he’d ever be able to make a run for it.

Yet by moving openly around court, he was able to keep curious folks from trying to meet with him in his own rooms. This helped him to conceal the injured Sho for the time being, Nino charging Mirei and the others with keeping anyone else out. Sho himself was still sore, tired beyond measure, but in another week or so he might be back to his old self. But there was no erasing the death sentence that still hung over him.

It remained unspoken between them as they sat up late talking the next few nights, Sho doing his best to fill in the gaps in Nino’s knowledge. 

The Sorceress Rumiko, Nino’s aunt, was not the woman she claimed to be. Sho made that clear right from the beginning. She was not her father’s favorite - the king had always favored his son, though Yukio had never been as bloodthirsty as Kotaro had wished. Rumiko saw that as her way into her father’s heart, her motives twisted from a young age.

Rumiko’s blood magic was strong, nearly as strong as her father’s. Perhaps stronger than her brother Yukio’s. She was a harsh mistress - there had been whispers for years about Rumiko’s servants vanishing without a trace. Magical experiments, some had claimed. Torture, others hinted. A few of Rumiko’s maids had been found face down in fountains scattered across the palace grounds. Some suicides, some…likely not.

She had relished her powers, and rumors spread about the cruelty she showed to the sons of the God of the Waters as well. Word got back to the king, and Kotaro refused to allow it. Not out of pity for the gods he ruled. No, the king simply didn’t want his illegitimate daughter growing too powerful at court. The king refused to let anyone appear more powerful than him.

Sho had been a teenager when Rumiko had been punished the first time. Sent away to a castle a hundred miles from the capital to “learn her lesson.” Her favor with the king waxed and waned over the next several years. He’d send her away, recall her to court. And then her cruel streak would show itself, and she’d be banished again. Back and forth, her powers suppressed and released. Suppressed and released.

“Prince Yukio believed she was insane,” Sho explained quietly. “I’ve always been inclined to agree with him.”

_Always good to see you out of your cage_ , Matsumoto Jun had joked about Rumiko in Kotaro’s audience chamber. Now Nino better understood what he’d meant. 

Kotaro’s favor for his grandson had shifted over the years as well, Sho informed him. In the years before he’d come of age, young Prince Jun had been a court favorite. Charming, intelligent, obsessed with upholding the family legacy.

“He was better liked than his own father,” Sho said. “And then it all went wrong.”

On his twentieth birthday there’d been a lavish ceremony, and Prince Jun had been tattooed right there in the royal audience chamber. His grandfather, his father and mother, and the entire court all watched as the young prince endured the needles again and again and again.

“He didn’t scream, Nino,” Sho told him, face ashen at the memory. “He didn’t scream once. But I will never forget the scream he let out when he discovered he had no power at all. I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”

“You grew up together?” Nino couldn’t help asking.

“In a manner of speaking,” Sho mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

“I served his father, and Prince Yukio wished for me to eventually serve as his son’s advisor. The history of the Sakurai family’s loyalty…uh, notwithstanding,” Sho said. “I attended lessons with Prince Jun. I waited on him as I waited on his father. Perhaps you consider that growing up together. I considered it a matter of duty.”

Nino raised an eyebrow. Sho was hiding something. 

“Anyhow. As you know, Prince Yukio wished to free the gods. When Jun…” Sho caught himself quickly, but Nino didn’t miss it. “When Prince Jun was revealed to be powerless, it formed a rift between them. Already the king had written Prince Jun off as useless and…and I’m afraid your father was no different.”

Nino sighed. “I’d feel sorry for him, honestly I would…”

And yet Prince Jun had stood there in the audience chamber, laughing as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Prince Jun had stood there and elected not to fight for Sho’s life, for the life of a man who’d grown up with him. Served his family loyally since he was a child. Instead he’d given him a teasing bite from his apple and simply asked for Sho’s death to be postponed. For propriety’s sake.

“He’s lost his way,” Sho explained quietly.

“He’ll inherit this kingdom, powers or no,” Nino said. “He hasn’t lost anything.”

“That’s up to you,” Sho replied. “Isn’t it?”

Nino was silent, stroking the inside of his elbow absent-mindedly. In only a few days, he’d know what his future held…and Jun’s as well.

Out in the desert, he’d never known that gods had been trapped in the capital. But he’d seen one of them, Masaki, standing right behind the king openly in the audience chamber. The people of the palace clearly knew of their existence, saw what power they possessed. How come the common people didn’t? The answer was rather simple, Sho explained. Keeping the royal family’s biggest secret kept you alive at court. If you told an outsider (who was unlikely to believe such a thing was possible anyhow, that a god might be trapped), you would be killed. Sho knew it to be true, had seen it done a few brutal times. The aristocrats and civil servants of Amaterasu held their tongues, if only so they might continue to enjoy the watery benefits of the gods’ enslavement.

“Where do they stay?” Nino wondered. “The sons of the God of the Waters? Takahashi took me all over, but I didn’t trust him enough to ask.”

Sho nodded. “You’ve already met Masaki. You might think of him as the agreeable one.”

“Agreeable how?”

“He’ll create water without being compelled.” Sho exhaled slowly. “On most days. Even gods have limits to their patience.”

Nino said nothing.

“Masaki…he was friendly with your father. Frankly, he’s friendly with most around here. The gods don’t require sleep the way you or I do, but they do require rest after performing their duties.”

Sho was using a rather polite and diplomatic tone. It reminded him of Takahashi and the other courtiers he’d met so far. He didn’t care for it.

“Performing their duties…you actually mean to say that they require rest after they’re tortured.” Nino leaned forward, commanding Sho’s attention. “Be straight with me.”

Sho looked down. “Yes, after they’ve been compelled. They’re far from the sea. You may think the water here is abundant, but it’s come at a cost. A harsh cost.”

“I imagine so.”

“Masaki has a bedchamber in the king’s apartments. He is favored by the king because he is, as I’ve said already…agreeable,” Sho explained. “That part of the palace is off limits to you for now.”

“So I’ve been told,” Nino replied. “And the other one? What palace euphemism do they have for him? _Dis_ agreeable?”

“The elder brother is Satoshi,” Sho explained. “He…”

The other son of the God of the Waters was the one Sho warned him about. He remembered Seitaro’s explanation of the blood magic. The gods could not harm a descendant of the Matsumoto bloodline. This Satoshi could not hurt him whether Nino had powers or not. But Sho’s expression was serious.

“He is favored by no one,” Sho said. “Your father tried…he offered Satoshi private rooms once, a place of his own. He refused.”

Good for Satoshi, Nino couldn’t help thinking. Trapped inside the capital’s walls and tortured for hundreds of years, why should he play nice?

“He isn’t seen often. I scarcely know much about him, even though I’ve lived in this palace as long as I can remember,” Sho continued. “He roams at will…well, to the extent that he’s able. As far as I know, he has never created water without being forced to.”

The sons of the God of the Waters had been trapped in Amaterasu for centuries. They’d chosen divergent paths. From the way Sho explained it, Nino assumed that Masaki had come to terms with his fate. Creating water willingly to avoid additional punishment and suffering. Not quite acceptance. Self-preservation. His brother, however, still fought against it all these years later. Nino wondered what path he’d have chosen if their positions were reversed.

“Yukio…my father…he wanted to free them,” Nino said. “How did he plan to do that?”

“He was convinced that one of the ancient scrolls in the royal library might hold the key. The tattoos have been passed down for generations, the curse of the blood magic. Prince Yukio believed there had to have been records or spells from Sorcerer Raku’s time, spells he used to cast the original curse. If he could find a way to reverse engineer the original curse, he thought he might be able to break it entirely.”

“Yukio only just died, but he received the tattoos of the bloodline forty years ago. You’re telling me that after forty years he found nothing?”

Sho looked grim. “The palace is full of spies, and Prince Yukio was never known for his love of scholarship. Those scrolls are nearly impossible to decipher. Sorcerers don’t exactly want their spell secrets in wide circulation, so almost everything Yukio managed to read was encoded to hide the truth. He couldn’t risk looking around every day of his life. If he’d spent days upon days in the royal library, it would have been suspicious. It might have been reported back to the king.”

“Forty _years_ , Sho.”

“Before I left Amaterasu to find you, the prince believed he was close. It encouraged him to find you, just in case he wasn’t strong enough. The plan was for Yukio to find the information he needed and smuggle it out of the palace to you on his estate so you could work in secret. Obviously that plan has fallen through, and you’re right in the middle of the vipers’ nest here. But I know where to at least start looking in the library,” Sho explained. “And besides, you’ve got the best excuse of all to spend time there. You want to learn more about your family’s history. It won’t arouse as much curiosity so you’ll have time to be methodical.”

Nino had to admit that he much preferred the thought of looking through dusty scrolls over continuing his family’s long legacy of torture.

“I don’t have forty years, Sho,” he said. “More like three months.”

Sho frowned. “Nino…”

He moved away, not wanting to linger on the topic of Sho’s pending execution. “I’ll visit the library in the afternoon tomorrow. Establish a routine. The desert rat that loves to read. Now, let’s see what the folks in the palace kitchens have in store for supper.”

Ignoring Sho’s forlorn expression, he left the room to tug on the cord that would summon Mirei.

Tomorrow the library. And the day after that the tattoos.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye once again, outside in the courtyard. He’d left the curtains open, walking briskly to the edge of the pool and looking up. The sky had darkened since he and Sho had begun talking, but even the best spy perched on the roof above them would not have heard their conversation.

He hoped.

He circled the pool, eyes squinting in the dark, looking for anything that might reveal the spy. The edge of a foot or a scrap of fabric disappearing over the top of the wall. He could have sworn he’d seen something out here.

“My lord,” came Mirei’s voice from inside the sitting room. She’d given up on “Your Highness,” but she wouldn’t do much more than that. “My lord, what is the matter?”

A cool breeze rustled his hair, and he settled his hands on his hips in disappointment. Nino took one last look above him, the darkness obscuring everything past the edge of the roof. 

“Nothing,” he replied, concealing his growing fear. “Nothing but shadows.”

—

As he had in previous days, Nino made no attempt to conceal where he planned to visit that afternoon. Takahashi was all too happy to escort Nino to the royal library. Nino smiled and acted agreeable when Takahashi led him through the hushed series of rooms, the shelves packed almost to bursting with scrolls dating back hundreds of years.

“While I traveled here with my dear aunt, she told me of her own studies when she was younger. About the family, our heritage,” Nino said, cloaking his true agenda as best he could. “I couldn’t help but envy her, having access to this marvelous collection her whole life.”

Takahashi smiled politely, although like most people Nino had encountered so far, he was no supporter of the Sorceress Rumiko. “Yes, she certainly spent a long time studying here.”

Nino was formally introduced to the elderly librarian, Yoshinaga, who was perched on a high seat behind a podium that guarded the entryway to the oldest items in the collection. She eyed him warily, but Nino had no reason to fear. She looked at Takahashi, the trusted royal advisor, with the same critical expression.

“Whatever you remove from a shelf goes on the work table nearest the door when you’re finished. The staff will return it to its proper place. The items are priceless, many of them the sole surviving copies, and I won’t allow any carelessness.”

Nino inclined his head. “Of course, Madame.” Which meant he’d have to obscure his true intentions. If all he unraveled were scrolls about blood magic, Yoshinaga might have reason to suspect him. He’d have to add in extra scrolls here and there to make it look as though he was studying a little bit of everything. He could see now why Prince Yukio’s search had taken him so long.

Yoshinaga remained on her perch, keeping watch over the larger reading room while Takahashi opened the door to the historical records room. Unlike the main library with its soaring ceilings and big bright windows with views of the palace gardens, this room was dark and depressing. Quiet as a tomb. The shelves were packed closer together, and Takahashi led him to a study table in the rear.

“I must admit I’ve spent little time in this room myself,” Takahashi admitted, “but I think you’ll be able to study in peace back here. I remember Prince Yukio, may the Gods favor him, preferring to come back here when his tutors set him to study his family tree. He never did like studying…”

Nino grinned. “With learned advisors like you around, Takahashi, what need did he have for such intense study?”

To Nino’s surprise, the older man gobbled up the compliment like a fine meal. Given the king’s attitude, Nino wondered if the advisors and servants of the palace were ever truly shown appreciation for their hard work. “You’re too kind, Your Highness. Too kind.”

“Thank you very much for the introduction. I won’t keep you from your work any longer,” he said, still uncomfortable with the idea of dismissing someone outright.

Takahashi left with a smile and a bit more confidence in his steps. Nino was finally alone when he heard the door close. Today wouldn’t be one for study, Nino decided. Not just yet. Instead he decided it was best to learn what was available, the shelves to best consider and the ones to dismiss outright.

The only light came from the sconces along the wall, and the room was cooler than most of the other ones he’d visited. Likely a preservative measure, especially if the scrolls were irreplaceable. The shelves to the left side of the room largely consisted of government records, far older than ones Nino had seen in the offices Takahashi had shown him days earlier. Population statistics for the kingdom as a whole, for Amaterasu. Outdated taxation laws, water laws. Copies of treaties that had long since expired.

It was the shelves on the right side that would likely hold the key to the enlightenment Nino actually sought. Court records dating back to Queen Emi’s reign, Nino discovered as he squinted in the low light to read the handwritten labels affixed to each shelf. Biographies and chronicles of Matsumoto family monarchs and their kin. Nino had a feeling that all of those works had the kindest things to say about the despots who’d been ruling the Sun Kingdom for centuries. He doubted that honest criticism ever found its way into the royal library.

And just as Sho had informed him that morning, Nino found the last few shelves unlabeled. The personal records of Sorcerer Raku himself. As the founder of the current royal bloodline, any scrap of paper that had fallen under Raku’s pen had been preserved here. The problem, of course, was that the man had done his utmost to conceal what he’d done. Nothing but a handful of innocuous records pre-dated his own reign over the Sun Kingdom.

Ninomiya Seitaro had taught him to read at a young age, mostly so Nino might help his mother in organizing and tracking their finances. The Sun Kingdom’s writing system had become more simplified over time, but the characters from the old days, from Sorcerer Raku’s days, often had multiple meanings. A turn of phrase could be read literally or figuratively, depending on an author’s intent. Nino knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

Sho had never been granted privileges to read the works in this room. Only the librarian, her most trusted staff, and those with royal blood were permitted to study here. In bits and pieces, Yukio had looked at scrolls and jotted down phrases, paragraphs. He’d brought them to Sho and together they’d attempted to translate the words of old into something they might be able to understand and use. It had been a painfully slow process - every single thing of Raku’s had been saved. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of scrolls and scraps to go through. And it wasn’t as though a brilliant sorcerer like Raku would have labeled his original blood curse as such.

In a kinder world, Yukio might have enlisted his son to help him. Even if Prince Jun lacked the ability to compel the gods, his royal blood would have granted him entrance to these rooms. He’d studied in here extensively as a boy, reading the family histories while he prepared for the day when he’d be tattooed. Father and son might have been able to cover more ground. And yet Yukio had turned away from Jun. Sho doubted that Yukio had ever even told Jun his dream of breaking the curse once and for all. 

Nino knew the king’s views on the gods. He knew Rumiko’s. But what did Jun think? Would Jun want Masaki and Satoshi to be freed? It was too early to know. Nino and Jun had only met the one time, and it had not exactly been a friendly encounter. For fourteen long years, Nino knew that his brother had been treated as an outcast. Perhaps the words of Sorcerer Raku meant little to him now.

Which meant Nino would be on his own, with only Sho to guide him. And if it took longer than three months…

He shook his head, leaning his hand against the dusty shelf and exhaling. 

“Hello there.”

He staggered back, turning to find a man standing in the aisle. Nino hadn’t heard the door open and close, but perhaps he’d been a bit too lost in thought. He needed to be more careful.

Nino stood his ground, feeling that chill go down his spine once again. Masaki, the son of the God of the Waters, was at the end of the aisle watching him. It was just the two of them in this room, mortal and god.

“Hello,” Nino replied. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry to startle you.” Masaki’s voice was light, conversational. Nino hadn’t known what to really expect. Perhaps he’d imagined the voice of a god being a bit more…forceful.

“Are you allowed to be in here?”

Masaki smiled. “I’m allowed to go just about anywhere, Ninomiya Kazunari.”

He froze at the sound of his full name falling from the lips of a god. Masaki took a step toward him, turning his eyes away. Already, without the god’s eyes watching him, Nino felt less afraid.

Masaki instead ran a fingertip along the shelf before him, examining the dust. “They ought to take better care in here.”

Nino didn’t know what to say. How did one make small talk with a god anyway?

He was taller than Nino by a few inches, but he was still the size of an ordinary man. Ordinary hair, ordinary nose, ordinary mouth. Ordinary arms and legs. And yet he was immortal. It was likely that Masaki had looked this way, unchanging, for centuries. The thought unsettled him.

“Your father is a Water Finder,” Masaki said, his eyes wandering along the unmarked shelves, crouching down to poke at some of the lower shelves as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

“My…my father was Prince Yukio.”

Masaki looked up at him and smiled again. It was almost soothing this time. “I met your father. I met Seitaro.”

Nino didn’t feel the desire to correct him.

“I traveled with Yukio once, when he was a young man. It was the first time I’d been away from these walls in…” Masaki looked away, getting back to his feet. “…let’s just say the first time I’d been away in a long while.”

Masaki walked back down the aisle, heading to examine one of the shelves on the left side of the room instead, the government records. Nino felt he had no choice but to follow along. 

“Seitaro was kind to me, though our acquaintance was very brief,” Masaki said. 

Nino remembered what Seitaro had told him that night in Toyone-mura. When Yukio visited his village, how he’d seen Yukio compel the god to create water. That god had been Masaki.

“I was the one who told Yukio to send your mother to Seitaro,” Masaki informed him. “I remembered his kindness. I see it reflected in you.”

Nino looked away. “You know why I’ve been brought here.”

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow they’ll put those marks on me. They brought me here to control you.”

Masaki turned, leaning back against the shelf gently, crossing his arms. “I know.”

“Doesn’t that anger you?”

Masaki didn’t seem angry or happy. His eyes merely held curiosity as he looked at Nino again. “Do you _wish_ to control me?”

He paused, knowing he had to be careful. The first time they’d met, Masaki had been standing just behind the throne. He had a private bedchamber in the king’s suite of apartments. Nino doubted that Masaki was strictly the king’s ally, but Nino didn’t know the full extent of the blood magic. If Masaki could be compelled to create water, could he also be compelled to reveal whatever he and Nino were talking about? Had the king sent Masaki to spy on him? Had Rumiko? Though Masaki had mentioned Seitaro, had spoken of him with respect, it still might be a ploy. 

Nino couldn’t trust him.

“I’ve been told that you will create water without being forced to. Am I mistaken?”

If Masaki was annoyed with Nino’s dodge, he didn’t show it in his eyes. “You are not.”

Nino pulled up the sleeve of his tunic, revealing his pale, still unmarked skin. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. But there are expectations upon me.”

“I understand.”

I don’t want to hurt you, Nino wanted to tell him. I don’t want to hurt you or your brother. But he couldn’t say it. The king and Rumiko needed to believe he was committed. He had to play their game or he’d never have the freedom to try and undermine them.

Masaki’s fingers were cool, ticklish as he traced them along the inside of Nino’s arm. “They will hurt.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Masaki smiled gently. “Kerida blossom.”

“I’m sorry?”

Masaki gave his arm a gentle poke before letting him go. “Send Sakurai Sho to me tomorrow. I’ll give him some.”

“What for?”

“The son of Ninomiya Seitaro should know,” Masaki teased before moving away. He left the room quietly, the door opening and closing behind him with a gentle click.

All Nino could do was stand there. Gods were real. Gods walked among them. One had spoken to him, seemingly offering advice or help. Was it genuine? Or a trap?

He could still feel the lingering chill of Masaki’s touch on his skin, and Nino rolled his sleeve back down with a shuddering breath.

—

Unlike Prince Jun, Nino received his tattoos in the privacy of his rooms. A young woman Nino didn’t know followed Rumiko into his sitting room that morning. Nino had been instructed not to eat any breakfast. The implication, Sho had informed him, was that the pain of the procedure might induce nausea. Nobody wanted Nino to vomit all over the tattooist.

The woman toted a leather case, opening it to reveal an elaborate set of extremely thin bamboo needles. Just seeing those, Nino was grateful he hadn’t eaten anything since the night before. There were small pots of dark ink, the purple he recognized from Rumiko’s skin. He noticed that the onyx bangle from his aunt’s ankle was missing this morning. Whatever magic was required for the ritual would apparently be her own.

A special chair was brought in for the procedure, a metal clamp attached to it where he was instructed to rest his left arm. He bit his lip when the tattooist strapped him into it, leaving his arm immobile. Sho stood in the corner of the room, watching with a serious expression. He’d watched this happen to Prince Jun. Now he’d have to witness it again.

Nino tried to focus on breathing as Mirei brought in a stool for the tattooist. The young woman sat down at Nino’s side. She would draw the six symbols first, she explained, inclining her head and apologizing in advance for the pain.

_“Kerida blossom?” Sho had wondered the night before. “I’m afraid I don’t know it.”_

_“It’s the old name for slattern weed,” Nino had told him, having looked it up in an herbalist’s guide in the library shortly after Masaki had departed._

Nino watched the six unfamiliar symbols appear on his skin in a thin trace of ink. Rumiko was in the center of the room, holding the pot of purple ink in her hand. She started to speak, but it was in a language Nino didn’t know. Just like the symbols being traced on his flesh, it was likely the language of the gods. She’d learned it by interpreting Raku’s writings. Unraveling his mysterious words on her own.

Nino watched the ink change color, grow darker still.

_“What’s slattern weed?” Sho had asked him._

_“Rare. Expensive. I’ve never used it before. It grows by the Great Sea. I’ve never seen it in our kingdom,” Nino had replied._

The curse laid upon the ink, Rumiko presented it to the young woman. Nino let out shuddering, nervous breaths as the woman upended the ink pot over his arm. This was no regular tattoo. The liquid was hot, itchy, and he fidgeted at the feeling of it running across his skin, over the symbols traced from the inside of his elbow to his wrist. But his arm didn’t move. If he jerked too suddenly at the pain to come, Rumiko told him with a smile, he’d likely dislocate his shoulder. It had happened to Yukio.

A small reservoir underneath the arm clamp caught the extra ink before it spilled on the tatami floor. The tattooist then brought out a bamboo handle, the tip of it full of small holes. Nino watched as she inserted each of her long, thin needles into a hole. The finished tool full of close-packed needles, the woman explained, would be thrust under his skin again and again, pushing the ink into the wounds.

_“And yet Masaki has some of it?” Sho had asked. “What does it do?”_

_“Slattern weed, kerida blossom, whichever you prefer…it’s a curative for poison.”_

The woman positioned the tool full of needles against the topmost symbol, inclining her head. She would work her way down toward his wrist. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” she whispered.

It was maybe ten or fifteen swift thrusts of the needles under his skin before the pain registered. And then he was lost in it, sobbing without shame.

_“Poison?”_

_“Was Jun given anything after he received the tattoos? Do you remember?”_

Rumiko sat at his other side, clasping his free hand and squeezing. “They’re going to look so beautiful.”

_“No,” Sho had said, lip quivering at the memory of what had been done to Jun. “No, you’re just supposed to endure it. He had a fever for a week when it was done. It almost killed him. They merely wrapped his arm in cloth so they could scab over and heal but…no, I don’t remember the tattooist giving him anything…it was forbidden…it’s always been forbidden…”_

Nino had fallen from a camel’s back when he was nine, breaking his ankle. When he was twenty-one, he’d had an infected tooth. Days from any town, he’d had to have a carpenter traveling with the caravan yank it from his jaw. Those incidents…they simply couldn’t compare.

Nino tried to focus on Sho, Sho standing in the corner of the room, trying to be invisible and silent in Rumiko’s presence. He could hear Kanna and the other maids crying in sympathy somewhere behind him. His skin was stained purple from the ink, his blood swirling into it, joining with the magic. Purple and red, purple and red. The tattooist’s hand was steady, pushing the needles under his aching skin again and again. Purple and red, purple and red. The red of the rising sun.

_“Nino, if he has something to ease your suffering…”_

_“Can I trust him?”_

_“You would know better than anyone if what he has is a genuine curative.”_

_“Why would he want to help me?”_

_Sho had simply shrugged. “I don’t know.”_

It might have lasted twenty minutes or two hours. He had no sense of time. He only knew it was finished when Rumiko released his hand, getting off of the stool beside him. He had double vision, blinking in confusion. Whatever was in the ink was already seeping into his blood, coursing through his body. 

It felt like his arm was ablaze. The needle tool was finally gone, and he could hear the tattooist’s soothing apologies as she patted his skin clean. She loosened the screws on the clamp, freeing his arm. Despite the woman’s efforts, the tatami mat beneath the chair was still splattered with ink and blood.

Rumiko was on his other side then, lifting his limp, throbbing arm in her hand. “They’re perfect,” she murmured. “They’re beautiful.”

The tattooist knelt down before them both, pressing her forehead to the floor. “Your will be done, Sorceress.”

“It’s a pity,” Rumiko muttered as Nino felt an odd shift in the air. He saw Sho turn his head, encouraging Mirei and the maidservants to look away. 

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong…

“Wait,” he stuttered as soon as he felt his aunt slip away from him. 

Rumiko picked up the needle tool, gripping it tightly in her fist.

“No, wait…” Nino begged, hearing the first sob from across the room. Kanna. It was Kanna sobbing. They all knew. Why didn’t he? Why hadn’t Sho told him?

Rumiko took hold of the tattooist by her long braid, pulling her head back. Nino saw the terror in the young woman’s face for an instant before he watched Rumiko plunge the tool into her neck.

Nino screamed.

—

He dreamed that he was wading into a vast pool of water. He dreamed that he was a vulture, circling a desert camp looking for scraps. He dreamed that he was climbing a rope ladder from his courtyard to the roof, but when he made it to the top the ladder turned into a thick braid of black hair.

He dreamed of her, the woman who’d marked his skin. 

He woke in the bathtub, cold water coming up to his chest. Sho was seated on the floor beside the tub, watching him warily.

His left arm was wrapped from shoulder to wrist, tightly bandaged and resting on the edge of the tub to keep it from getting wet. 

His tongue was heavy in his mouth, and his arm still felt as though it had been set afire. But that wasn’t the worst of it. “She’s dead,” he wheezed, meeting Sho’s eyes. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

Sho nodded, and Nino looked away.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sho scooted closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Whenever a member of the royal family receives the tattoos of the bloodline, the actual markings are done by a professional. Since the language of the gods, the curse itself, is secret like most of what goes on here in the palace, the family doesn’t allow it to be revealed. Traditionally, the tattooist has been blinded, but housed comfortably somewhere on palace grounds the rest of their days. Fed and clothed, their families compensated. It’s never been much of a burden to the Matsumoto treasury since only one or two tattooists are needed in a generation. They’ve always been blinded, Nino, so that they cannot reproduce or reveal what they’ve seen and done.”

“But Rumiko…”

“Rumiko is unpredictable,” Sho replied. 

Nino shut his eyes. “That woman’s blood is on my hands.”

“It’s not,” Sho insisted. “Nino, that was Rumiko’s doing.”

He shook his head. “Never again,” he whispered. “Never again.”

The topic of the tattooist and her cruel murder was dropped for now. Sho helped him from the bathtub, wrapping him in a soft cotton robe and bringing him to his bedchamber. Though Sho was now back on his feet, most of his bruising starting to fade, it would have been proper to have him return to his room in the servants’ quarters a floor above, to have him be summoned the same as he summoned Mirei and the other young women. But Nino had had no idea the tattoos would leave him this incapacitated. For now, it seemed like Sho was camping out on his floor, keeping watch over him.

As he made his way under the sheets, Sho informed him that he’d been feverish for the better part of three days already. Nino still felt rotten, but now that he was halfway coherent, he knew he could finally ask.

“Did you get it?” he asked, sitting upright with several pillows propped up behind him.

Sho said nothing, merely bringing over a tray that could rest on Nino’s lap. He watched Sho remove a small painting from the wall opposite the bed. This revealed a tiny panel with a catch that Sho tugged on, opening a secret chamber built into the wall. “It was Mirei who told me about it,” Sho said. “Might be useful if you bring anything here from the library.”

Sho removed a thin glass vial from the chamber and closed it again, re-hanging the painting. He brought it over and set it down on the tray. “I couldn’t get to Masaki right away, but he didn’t seem upset. I only managed to get this from him last night. He just handed it over, no questions asked.”

The vial was about the size of his index finger, a coiled thread of blue sealed up inside it. The color, shape, and appearance matched what Nino had read about in the library. It was authentic kerida blossom as far as he could tell, though it wasn’t a plant he’d ever worked with before. 

Poison wasn’t something Nino had dealt with while traveling in Seitaro’s caravan. Most ailments he’d attended to lacked any sinister intent behind them. Desert fever. The coughing fits that accompanied hearth lung. The walking sickness that he’d managed to catch from three different people while he healed them. But poison…never poison.

The herbalist’s guide had described slattern weed or kerida blossom as an extremely potent plant. He could likely buy a grand house in the capital with the mere sliver Masaki had stuck into the vial he’d handed over to Sho without saying a word. The curse of his bloodline, the tattoos, it was a poisoning of his blood. Whatever spell his aunt had cast on the tattooist’s ink, it had likely spread its way throughout Nino’s body already. It was what had left him a feverish mess for days.

The guide had instructed healers to crush a small portion of the weed and mix it into tea or food to disguise its horrid taste. Nino uncapped the stopper and immediately regretted his choice. Even a few feet away Sho recoiled in disgust. Nino shoved the stopper back in, coughing painfully as his movements jostled his aching arm. Masaki had given him enough for about two weeks’ worth of treatments.

He eyeballed the gift from the god, wondering how long it had been in his possession. Wondering why Masaki had offered it to him when it was clear that no other descendants of Raku had been given anything for their pain or suffering for centuries.

He thought of his aunt’s arm, the way the tattoos had all but rotted her flesh. She’d had the tattoos for nearly forty years. King Kotaro had had his for nearly seventy. Nino looked down at his tightly-wrapped arm, noticing six faint oozing red marks. Sho had clearly dressed and re-bandaged it the last few days but still there were open sores leaking life, the poison of the curse taking its place.

“What does Jun’s arm look like?”

Sho raised his eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Nino hovered a finger over his covered wounds. “He’s had them what, fourteen years now? What has it done to him?”

Maybe it was the fever playing tricks on his eyes, but Nino might have sworn Sho’s ears were turning red. 

“He was always temperamental,” Sho muttered, “and it only worsened when he found out he lacked any magical ability. So I’m not sure about any psychological effects that are purely a result of the markings.”

“Physically though,” Nino pressed him. The only time he’d seen his brother, his arms had been covered up. “Does his arm look like it’s going to fall off?”

“No!” Sho lowered his voice apologetically. “No. No, nothing like that. Prince Yukio used to get feverish easily, especially if he was…aggressive for a long period of time with Masaki or Satoshi. He often asked me to find creams for his arm to soothe it. Nothing as rare as what’s in that vial, but whatever the palace physicians had.”

“And Jun can’t tap into their power, the tattoos,” Nino mused, thinking and considering.

Rumiko had used her powers so excessively that she’d had that bangle latched around her leg in punishment. Perhaps that was the downside to the curse. Power always came at a price. Compelling the gods, turning to dark magic, it was rotting her from the inside out. Had perhaps even driven her insane. It had clearly hurt Yukio as well. Jun being powerless might actually have been the best thing for him. The curse would never leave his blood, Nino imagined, but the poison worked slowly. It might be years or decades before the rot might take hold of him.

“If you use the kerida blossom, do you think it will prevent you from using magic?” Sho wondered. “Do you think that was Masaki’s intent?”

He shook his head. “If that was the case, he’d have given it to someone in this horrible family centuries ago. My guess is that it’ll just tamp down the side effects of the curse. The fever. The madness.” He looked up. “There’s madness in the family, there has to be.”

Sho nodded. “Prince Yukio never called it that, but the more he looked back at his family tree, the more heavily burdened were its branches. The official court records contained mentions of abdications, but I doubt they were all voluntary.”

“All for a few more drops of water,” Nino said with a sigh, tapping the vial of kerida blossom gently against the tray.

“All for a few more drops of water.”


	5. Chapter 5

He nearly vomited his food back up after sprinkling no more than one or two tiny slivers of kerida blossom in his rice. But after only one day’s worth of meals, Nino’s fever had vanished. They kept it a secret - when one of Rumiko’s representatives stopped by for a visit, Nino hoped he was a solid enough actor, lying under his sheets and pretending to be writhing in restless agony.

He finally removed the bandaging himself one morning, staring down at what had been done to him. Six characters carved into his flesh, a language he didn’t understand. The wounds didn’t seem infected, which seemed to astonish Sho. Masaki’s antidote had kept inflammation away, leaving only the sore purple markings. 

Nino couldn’t avoid his aunt much longer and after a week in his room, he had little choice but to go when she summoned him. Murderer, he was reminded upon seeing her cruel face again. The woman was a murderer.

Thankfully Rumiko’s bangle had been returned to her ankle, and she greeted him with a too-long hug. He’d been asked to meet with her far from the residential wing, far from the king’s apartments and the offices of the various royal advisors and their staff. Instead Nino found himself in one of the storage rooms that held dozens of sacks of grain stacked to the ceiling - the palace had stockpiles while citizens of the Sun Kingdom starved only miles away.

Without warning, she grabbed for his still tender arm, lips quirking in amusement at his wince of pain as she tugged him closer, pushing up his sleeve. He watched her reaction closely as his tattoos were unveiled. She made approving noises, not seeming to find anything amiss about their appearance. 

“There were more who studied sorcery in the olden days,” Rumiko said, making Nino squirm as she pressed her fingers down on each symbol. “More who knew the language. Never enough to communicate in-depth but at least we remember and cherish these.”

“The language of the gods,” Nino murmured.

He watched Rumiko trace each symbol on the inside of his arm, tried to keep from jerking away as she pushed down on each of them almost as though she truly did mean to hurt him.

“The translation for these is far simpler than you might think, Kazunari,” she explained. “‘The wind blowing down mountains.’”

“The wind blowing down mountains,” he repeated.

“The gods were never straightforward, and in the olden days, neither were humans. But language evolves, simplifies. Six characters all to say one word.”

“And what word is that?”

“A simple one. Storm.”

He said nothing, unable to look away from the curse set upon him.

“It is just like the children’s stories say,” Rumiko said, reverence in her tone. “Sorcerer Raku went to the God of the Waters, telling him there was a drought in his land, that people were suffering and dying. ‘Send me the wind blowing down mountains,’ he demanded, ‘for my people would gladly drink of it since our wells are bone dry.’”

“But the God of the Waters didn’t send a storm. He sent his sons.”

The sorceress stroked his cheek with her fingernail. Nino thought of the young tattoo artist, stabbed in the neck, left to bleed out on his floor merely for carving a storm into his skin.

Rumiko smiled. “Oh no, Kazunari. The God of the Waters definitely sent a storm.”

She stepped away from him, clapping her hands.

“Bring him in!”

Nino took a reflexive step back, bracing himself when the door opened. It took three sturdy-looking members of the Kingsguard to haul him in, a man small in stature, shorter than Nino by an inch or two. He didn’t say a word, only moving stiffly in their grasp, struggling.

Skin tanned by the sun, the man wore a thin shirt of blue cotton that hung loosely from his small, slim frame and threadbare trousers. He was barefoot, his black hair cut short but sloppy and unstyled in contrast to most men Nino had seen at court. He had a round face, a small pouting mouth. His upper lip and chin were peppered with dark stubble, a deliberate flouting of what was considered right and proper. The soldiers wrangled the man like he was a wild beast rather than a human being.

But Nino realized soon enough that this wasn’t a human being at all.

Nino remembered when he entered the king’s audience chamber. He remembered how it had felt when he’d met Masaki’s eyes for the first time. The chill, the shudders rolling down his spine as he shivered. But it wasn’t the same this time. The feeling seemed a bit more muted, a warmth crawling up his tattooed arm instead, making the symbols burn anew. And yet it was familiar. _Send me the wind blowing down mountains_.

A god. Another god.

He watched as the Kingsguard pushed the god into a wooden chair, putting his arms behind his back and tying his wrists with rope. His ankles were tied to the base of the chair, and Nino could barely look into the god’s face as he gave up on openly struggling, instead looking at Rumiko with absolute hatred in his dark brown eyes.

Masaki’s brother, the other son of the God of the Waters, trapped here just the same. This was Satoshi, Nino realized. This was the one Sho had recommended he avoid as much as possible. Of course, the gods were unable to harm him. That was part of the blood magic, was it not?

And yet if looks could kill…

Satoshi didn’t seem to look much older than his brother, but his lean, unkempt appearance and the readily apparent rage in his eyes were Masaki’s complete opposite. He’d only spoken with Nino the one time, but Masaki had seemed resigned to his fate, making the best of an utterly unforgivable situation. In contrast, Satoshi was like a captive creature pacing its cage, waiting to pounce and have his revenge.

The soldiers stepped back, and Rumiko moved forward, circling the chair. Nino watched nervously as his aunt casually ran her fingertips up Satoshi’s arms, across his shoulder blades. She chuckled, sinking so low as to tickle a god. This only made Satoshi angrier, but he didn’t lash out. He couldn’t lash out at her. Everything was in his eyes. I would see you dead, his eyes spoke on his behalf. I would see you suffer for what you do.

Rumiko was proving the truth of the curse. No matter what she did, Satoshi couldn’t fight back. Nino crossed his arms, embarrassed. Shamed. This was wrong.

Finally done with her teasing, Rumiko came back to him, pulling up the sleeve of her robe to reveal her own disgusting tattoos. “Today is your test, Kazunari,” she said. “Your day of reckoning.”

At that, Nino saw Satoshi’s murderous gaze finally turn in his direction. The god cocked his head, staring him down. The full force of those eyes ought to have made him feel faint, the same as when Masaki had looked upon him the first time. But there was only a light buzzing, concentrated entirely in his arm. The tattoos.

Nino realized that he didn’t need to be tested. He already knew. When Masaki had looked upon him, he’d been different, unmarked. But now the curse was running through his veins. Unlike his brother Jun, he had the power. His blood was strong, Rumiko might say. The power of the bloodline had passed to him.

He took a slow breath, unable to look away from Satoshi’s eyes. 

Masaki had asked Nino a question in the library a week ago. _Do you wish to control me?_

He saw that question now mirrored in Satoshi’s dark eyes, watched his lip curl in disgust. But Satoshi’s unspoken question was slightly different as he stared Nino down.

Do you _dare_ to control me?

His aunt didn’t seem to care at all about the silent conversation going on between nephew and god. Her hand was on his arm again, the pain a mere itch compared to the force of the god’s rage. 

“He looks small, but this one is stronger than his brother,” Rumiko said. Her fingers almost lovingly caressed the tattoos on Nino’s arm. “There is divinity in every inch of his flesh, but look upon him, Kazunari. He looks no different from you or me.”

Rumiko called for a bucket, one of the soldiers grabbing an empty metal pail from the corner of the room and setting it down on the floor halfway between Nino and where Satoshi was tied.

“Speaking of brothers,” Rumiko teased, “We prepared this simple test for Jun when his fever finally broke, and he failed it. Again and again that pathetic boy tried, but he couldn’t manage it. He spoke the words so beautifully, I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember him crawling along the floor on his belly, sobbing like a child, taking hold of Satoshi here by the leg.” She looked over, smiling at the god. “What did that boy ask of you?”

Satoshi didn’t answer.

“Hmm,” Rumiko sighed. “This one’s always been stubborn. Come now, Satoshi. Our dear Kazunari wants to know. There’s so much he doesn’t know. Won’t you indulge him?”

Again, Satoshi chose not to respond. But Nino could see that the fight was going out of him. He was still angry, there was no mistaking it, but he knew he was stuck here in this horrible room until Rumiko decided she was done with him. 

“Please!” Rumiko screamed, making Nino jump back in fright. Her voice was suddenly high-pitched, shuddering. “Please!”

The members of the Kingsguard didn’t react. Neither did Satoshi. Nino, on the other hand, was trying not to shake.

Rumiko started to laugh, leaving Nino’s side, going up to Satoshi and pulling his shirt into her fist. She tugged on it, still shouting. “Please!” she screamed. “Please! I’m the heir to the Sun Kingdom! You will obey my command!”

Satoshi looked away, features darkening as Rumiko toyed with him. She was yanking on him so hard Satoshi’s back was coming off the chair, his balance thrown off. Nino heard the fabric of his shirt tear. Before the chair could topple, leaving the defenseless god on the floor, Nino had had enough.

“Aunt Rumiko,” he interrupted, voice as strong as he could manage. 

She stopped, finally letting him go, that awful blood red smile returning to her face. “Your brother’s words,” she said, her breath coming in heavy gasps. The woman had reveled in Jun’s failure, hadn’t she? “Your brother’s pathetic words that day.”

“How unfortunate,” he murmured in reply.

“His blood was weak,” Rumiko spat. “But I know that yours is not.” She pointed at him decisively. “You need only say it aloud. The wind blowing down mountains. But you must speak as they do.”

He listened as Rumiko spoke again, but the sounds were foreign to his ears. Almost beautiful, even in his aunt’s voice. Satoshi didn’t react, sitting there with his shirt nearly torn from him, his chest rising and falling as he awaited whatever would be done to him. If Satoshi wasn’t reacting to Rumiko’s command, the words “the wind blowing down mountains” in the language of the gods, then it must have meant that the bangle also managed to dampen her control over Satoshi.

This was Nino’s test alone. He needed only to repeat what Rumiko had said. He needed only to repeat it and he would know if his blood held power.

He wanted to cut out his tongue, to never hear those words fall from his own lips. Satoshi eyed him warily. Nino’s moral dilemma was of little concern to him.

“ _The wind blowing down mountains_ ,” his aunt enunciated clearly in the language of the gods. “Don’t be afraid. It is your birthright, Kazunari.”

“I…I don’t…”

The three soldiers seemed almost bored, one of them itching at his nose while Nino wavered. If he spoke the words and Satoshi created water, then Nino’s place at court would surely improve. He’d be trusted, valued. If he spoke the words and Satoshi created water, it meant Nino could attempt to break the curse, as Yukio before him had tried. 

But if he spoke the words and Satoshi created water, he could never take it back. Even if he never spoke them again, it was cruel, forcing Satoshi to obey his command. Whatever his intent, however hard he fought to free Satoshi and his brother, it could not and would not be forgotten. He would always be a man who forced another to do something he did not wish to do. That savagery could not be erased.

What kind of man was Ninomiya Kazunari? 

He supposed that had been decided weeks ago back in Toyone-mura. Standing on the hill, watching the smoke of the bonfire. Seitaro’s words, Seitaro’s faith in him. He was the only one who could do this. The guilt might eat away at him for the rest of his life, but what did his guilt, his selfishness, matter? 

He had to forfeit his soul to try and save everyone else’s. That was the task Matsumoto Yukio had set for him. A man he’d never even know.

“Kazunari,” Rumiko said, voice growing impatient. 

How easy it must have been for someone heartless like her all these years, how powerful it must have felt to take and take and take from someone who could do nothing to stop you.

Nino took a breath, taking a step forward. He now had Satoshi’s full attention, and his arm throbbed with the burden of the six symbols of Satoshi and Masaki’s centuries-long enslavement. He held the god’s gaze for what might have been seconds or minutes. He inhaled, exhaled. Before him, Satoshi inhaled, exhaled. The hardened set of the god’s jaw didn’t waver. His pride and anger never faded. But he now watched Nino with a heavy sadness in his eyes, no longer straining against his bonds.

Be done with it, those hypnotic brown eyes suddenly seemed to tell him. Just hurry up and be done with it.

The foreign, unfamiliar words slipped from his mouth quietly but firmly.

“ _The wind blowing down mountains_.”

The room was filled with a heavy, penetrating silence Nino felt all the way to his bones. He held his breath, arm burning. The anger drained from Satoshi’s face, the hardness. The rage. In that instant, Nino saw another man. He likely saw the Satoshi who’d arrived here hundreds of years ago, sent on his father’s command. He was innocent, hopeful.

In that instant, he was beautiful. 

In that instant, Nino was lost.

He watched tears start to fall from Satoshi’s eyes, and he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t look away even as he heard Rumiko’s thrilled cheers. He couldn’t look away even as he heard her pick up the pail from the floor, heard the sudden slosh of water inside. This was like no other feeling Nino had ever had. 

The tears of a trapped god had left him completely undone. Though Satoshi was the one lashed to the chair, it was Nino who suddenly felt in thrall.

Their eye contact was abruptly severed when Rumiko suddenly came to stand before him, holding the pail of water out with pride in her eyes. Nino let out a trembling breath, jaw trembling as tears filled his own eyes. I’m sorry, he couldn’t afford to say. I’m sorry.

“Look,” Rumiko whispered excitedly, demanding that he see what he’d done.

The pail was full almost to the top with water that had obviously not been there a few moments ago. The god had cried, blessing them with fresh water.

She held the pail in one hand, dipping in the fingers of her free hand. Nino watched as Rumiko sucked the droplets from her fingers. “Fresh. Clean. And cold. Sorcerer Raku’s bloodline continues in the name of Matsumoto Kazunari.”

He stepped back when she stepped forward, urging for him to taste what he’d forcibly stolen from the son of the God of the Waters. “I don’t need to try it. I’ve already drunk my fill, bathed in it. This entire palace overflows with what we’ve taken.”

Rumiko laughed. “Soft hearted still, even with such power at your command. It will be my privilege and pleasure alike to help you grow stronger. You will fill streams and wells, fountains and cisterns. It will all flow from you, Kazunari.”

She moved away, carrying the water with her. She moved to Satoshi, still tied to the chair, tear tracks drying on his cheeks, eyes reddened and pained. 

“Congratulate my nephew, Satoshi,” Rumiko said. “He is strong like his father, may the Gods favor him. He is strong like his grandfather.”

Satoshi maintained his silence.

“Congratulate him!”

When Satoshi said nothing, Nino cried out in shock as Rumiko upended the pail of water over the god’s head and flung the pail aside with a loud clang. Nino could only watch, horrified, as the water splashed down his face, soaking into his clothes, puddling on the floor. The god lowered his head, anger renewed as his whole body quaked in irritation, and Nino couldn’t find words. Black hair plastered to his head, drops falling from the tip of his nose, his chin. His torn clothes stuck to his frame while Nino bore witness to the god’s humiliation.

“Remove him from my sight.”

The soldiers didn’t hesitate, loosening the ropes and tugging the drenched god from the chair at Rumiko’s command. His wet hair had fallen across his eyes in clumps, but as he was dragged away, he shook it aside, kept his eyes on Nino as he was nearly carried out the door.

He barely registered Rumiko’s arm coming around his shoulder, her hollow praises poisoning his eardrums. All he could think about was that moment when he saw the god change, when he saw the tears form in his eyes. A beautiful, perfect god that Nino now knew he could compel without consequence.

“We will have to meet with Father. We will have to share the good news.”

Nino could only stumble away, nauseated and sickened. In the hallway he saw a small trail of water leading off in one direction. He went the opposite way, ignoring the greetings of courtiers and advisors, their groveling. Their praise. He got turned around, dizzy and infuriated, hands scrambling against the wall as he desperately tried to get away.

Mirei was cleaning his washbasin when he returned to his rooms, and he raised his voice.

“Leave me alone!” he hollered, and he needed only say it once. She fled without another word. 

He knocked aside the screen with the pelicans, dropping to his knees and going for his chamber pot, emptying the contents of his belly into it until there were tears in his eyes and his throat ached.

—

He managed to keep Sho and the maids out for three days save for bowls of miso soup Sho clearly snuck inside during the night, as he found it cold when he woke. The infection in his arm had been kept at bay before by the kerida blossom, but after three days without its rotten taste permeating his meals, the fever had taken hold again.

In and out of a restless nightmarish sleep, he felt that it was what he deserved. 

When someone set to knocking on the evening of the third day and refused to stop, he finally pulled himself from his sweat-soaked sheets and prepared to tell them off. He hadn’t, however, expected to find Masaki standing on the other side, his fist raised mid-knock.

He staggered back, mouth stale and dry. His arm felt cool as Masaki’s eyes met with his. The power manifested differently, Nino realized. With Masaki, his arm felt cold. With Satoshi, he’d felt heat. He wasn’t sure what it meant, and at the present moment he didn’t care.

“You can force me to create water,” Masaki said calmly, eyes rather amused as he stayed on the other side of the threshold. “And you can force me to leave.”

“I could also call the guards to do that for me,” Nino said bitterly.

“You could, Your Highness.”

He stood aside, feeling a little lightheaded after having moved from his bedroom to the door so swiftly. Masaki walked in, and Nino shut the door.

“Sakurai Sho fears for you.”

“He ought to fear for himself,” Nino muttered. “He will die soon because I wasn’t clever enough to save him.”

The god helped himself to one of Nino’s cushions, setting it on the floor before the low table and sitting casually with his legs crossed. Nino doubted Masaki had plans to leave any time soon, so instead of going back to bed, he grabbed a cushion of his own and joined him on the floor.

Masaki reached into the pocket of his trousers, setting down another glass vial of kerida blossom. “I thought, perhaps, that you might have run out.”

Nino left the vial where it was. The kerida blossom had been his saving grace, had kept the fever at bay when he’d ingested it. It ought to have assured him that Masaki was someone he could trust. But he still didn’t know if he could afford to. He met Masaki’s cool, placid eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Masaki cocked his head. “For what?”

Nino narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play dumb.”

“Ah,” the god replied, an oddly cheerful smile appearing on his face. “Your test.”

“If I said the words right now, you’d have no choice but to obey me.”

Masaki nodded. “Yes.”

“Do I have to provide you with a glass or would you simply flood the room and ruin my floor?”

Masaki leaned his elbow against the table, propping up his head with a hand to his chin. They sat together, prince and god, as though they were comfortable friends. “Your bathtub would suffice, I suppose. Or the pool in your courtyard. Typically I’m given a direct order in terms of placement.”

“You can speak of it so casually.”

“I speak practically, Ninomiya Kazunari. I’m merely answering the question you’ve posed.”

He leaned back, resting his hands on the floor behind him. He knew that Masaki could see the tattoos on his arm, and yet he didn’t seem bothered.

“Do you always cry?”

“Yes.”

“Even if you do it willingly?”

“Yes.”

“If the curse was lifted and you could kill me right now, would you?”

Masaki’s smile slipped away.

“Would you?” Nino pressed.

His voice was different when he responded this time, heavy and serious.

“No.”

“If I spoke the words and made you fill my bathtub or the courtyard or the entire palace until everyone inside it drowned, would you feel differently? If I asked in your language for the wind blowing down mountains, wouldn’t you long to see me dead?”

“No,” Masaki repeated, this time more decisively.

Nino sat up straighter, leaning until he could reach the vial of kerida blossom. He gave it a push with his finger, rolling it back in Masaki’s direction.

He took a long, measured breath, his mind still whirring from the poison flooding his body. He looked sharply at the god sitting before him. “Does it hurt when you’re being controlled?”

“Yes.”

He shut his eyes, tapping his fingers nervously on the table. “Why did you give me the kerida blossom when you’ve done nothing of the kind for the men and women who have come before me?”

“There is a phrase in our language,” Masaki said quietly. “You might translate it as ‘last hope.’”

He opened his eyes, his tattooed arm stiff and cold as Masaki stared him down. “Shall I have that marked on me next?”

Masaki’s seemingly infinite well of patience and reserve was drying up. “For the better part of a millennium, I have been here, within these walls. There was always a successor. Always, without fail. There has been a Matsumoto king or queen for generations, and I gave millions of my tears to them. But this generation is the generation of last hope.”

“Because Jun can’t hurt you.”

Masaki’s smile was bitter. “I’m not talking about Jun.”

“You’re saying I’m the last hope?”

Masaki nodded. “Yukio tried to break the curse for most of his life, but he never did.”

Nino’s eyes widened. So Masaki had known what Yukio had been up to. It was likely Masaki knew why Nino had been called here, that Nino was here to try and break the curse himself. All this time Nino had wavered about trusting the long-confined god, and yet it seemed as though Masaki had trusted and believed in him from the start. The kerida blossom had truly been intended to help him, to ease Nino’s suffering so that hopefully Masaki’s might be eased as well someday.

He felt ashamed.

“What if I can’t do it?” Nino whispered. “What if I’m not strong enough either?”

“Until the other day, my hopes were more wishful thinking than anything else. You were raised away from this horrible place. You were raised by a man with a conscience. And as a healer, you’ve seen the suffering of this world and have fought hard to diminish it. A man like that would be repulsed by the idea of compelling my brother, compelling me. A man like that would take no pride in what his ancestors have done for so many years. He would want our imprisonment to end.”

“And you’ve moved past wishful thinking, have you? You think I’m truly the last hope, here to set you free? You don’t really know me, you don’t know anything about me. What has you so convinced?”

Masaki grinned faintly. “You made my brother cry.”

Nino waved his hand. “You’ve already said that it makes you cry so…”

“I was answering the question you asked of me. You asked if _I_ cry. You did not ask about Satoshi.”

“I…I assumed that if one of you…”

“My brother has not cried since the day we arrived. He has not cried since Sorcerer Raku betrayed us. Hurt us. Broke us.” Masaki’s gaze was far away, lost in memories that were centuries old. “No matter the pain, he refused to show your predecessors his tears. Me, on the other hand, well, I’ve always been the crybaby of the family.”

The storage room had slipped into Nino’s fevered nightmares. Images had flashed through his mind again and again. Satoshi tied to the chair. Rumiko dumping the bucket of water over his head, throwing his coerced gift right back in his face. The way his arm had burned when he felt the fury in Satoshi’s eyes on him, the heat that had tethered them together as the god’s tears had fallen.

“I really hurt him,” Nino murmured in horror.

Masaki leaned forward, his hand ice cold as he wrapped it around Nino’s wrist. “No, no, it isn’t like that.”

“Then what is it like, Masaki?” he spat back. “What have I done to him that was so different from the torture generations before me have inflicted on him?”

Masaki paused, squeezing Nino more gently. 

“For centuries members of your family have barely waited for the ink on their arms to dry before seeking us out. They’ve passed out chasing us down. They’ve locked us in dungeons. They’ve never slowed, they’ve never hesitated.” Masaki refused to look away. “All they cared about was proving themselves. Their legacy, their power. Their bloodline. Yukio fought most of his life to free us, but the day he turned twenty he held a dagger to my throat and said the words.”

Nino shook at the very thought of it.

“I compelled him,” he whispered. “I still said the words.”

“Condemn yourself all you wish, Ninomiya Kazunari, but it doesn’t diminish what I believe. It doesn’t diminish what my brother probably knows in his heart is true, though he is a stubborn character, you’ll find. You’re different from them, and you’ll prove it.”

Masaki let him go, rolling the vial of kerida blossom back across the table to him. 

“Don’t stop taking this. If you’re truly to save us, I obviously need you alive. I need you sane. Do whatever you must do to convince them of your sincerity. Play their wicked game so you can turn it back on them tenfold.”

Masaki got to his feet, heading for the door. Nino felt the weight of the god’s faith in him, felt it in the lingering chill in his tattooed arm. Would he ever be strong enough?

“All I can do is try,” Nino vowed quietly, Masaki pausing at the door but not turning around. “I promise to try.”

He heard what might have been a thank you as Masaki opened the door and closed it behind him. Nino picked up the vial and squeezed it tightly, desperate to curb his doubts.

—

Masaki was waiting in the king’s audience chamber two days later, standing behind the throne with a calm, passive look that made it seem like the conversation in Nino’s sitting room had never happened.

The entire path to the dais was lined with Kingsguard outfitted in full armor, swords sheathed at their sides as Nino made his way up the red carpet to where his grandfather sat, eager to test him. Rumiko had also managed to win an invitation to the event, though she mingled amongst the advisors and courtiers who’d been kept back to either side of the chamber by the Kingsguard.

Matsumoto Jun had also found his way to the audience chamber that day, though he hung back several feet behind the throne, leaning back against the wall with what Nino could only describe as a bored expression. Nino wondered how many people Rumiko had told about the events in the storage room, how many people knew that Nino had the ability that the heir to the throne lacked.

For his own part, Nino did nothing to downplay his power. Instead, he’d chosen to flaunt it openly, as his aunt liked to. As he’d heard that most of his predecessors had. Sho had winced that morning as Nino had taken all of the fine shirts and tunics that had been gifted to him, ripping the sleeves from all of them so his tattoos might be more easily seen and admired. 

“You might have simply asked for new ones without sleeves instead of destroying these,” Sho had pecked at him, but Nino had been grateful for the small bit of levity. It helped to offset the new attitude he was putting on display, strutting around as Jun had the first time they’d met. He’d tied the black ribbon of mourning around his bared bicep instead.

It wasn’t enough that Nino bore the power of his bloodline. He had to sell it. He had to convince the court that he would be the best choice to carry on his family’s legacy. He had to convince them that he was beyond reproach. Kazunari the prince. Kazunari who could compel the gods.

He approached the throne with all the arrogance he could muster, even as his heart raced. He was walking a dangerous line. He knelt, lowering his head to his grandfather.

“A few weeks in the capital have changed you,” King Kotaro declared, his rasping voice echoing throughout the chamber as everyone watched with hushed interest. “Though your sartorial choices leave much to be desired.”

He heard a few obedient chuckles from the gathered crowd, and he smiled.

“Approach.”

He rose to his feet, moving up the steps until he was beside the throne opposite Masaki. Kotaro looked aside, gesturing for Nino to lean over. His breath was foul, warm against Nino’s ear. He felt the old man’s gnarled fingers wrap around his tattooed arm. He smiled through the pain, feeling the cool sensation that was having Masaki’s gaze upon him.

“Do not say the words so that all can hear them. I don’t need a spectacle. I merely need proof of your capabilities,” the king demanded before letting him go.

Nino offered the king an ostentatious bow, wondering if anyone could see through his bravado. Looking back to the wall, he could see Jun examining his fingernails instead of paying close attention. But after learning what he had from Sho and learning what he had from Rumiko, Nino wondered how much of his brother’s behavior was an act as well.

He moved back to the carpet, standing with his hands on his hips as the doors at the rear of the chamber opened, and red-robed servants came one after another with some of the massive cookpots from the palace kitchens. Nino swallowed, counting as they were brought in and set down, one right after the other. He counted twenty in all, each of them high enough to nearly reach Nino’s shoulder. They could hold a lot of water, and all he’d managed to do before today was have Satoshi fill a pail.

Once all of the cookpots had been settled, the servants were ordered to the back of the room. Nino could hear murmurs among the crowd. The king had said he didn’t want a spectacle. But then what was this? What was this silly set-up? What might the king actually consider a spectacle?

The king raised a hand for quiet, and the room fell silent.

“Masaki,” the king said simply, and Nino took a deep breath as the god moved from behind the throne, taking the steps down to stand on the carpet just at Nino’s side. 

Their eyes met, and Nino couldn’t read the look in Masaki’s. The god had told him to do whatever was necessary. He didn’t want to, especially knowing that Masaki would likely fill every cookpot to the brim without needing to be controlled. But Nino supposed that wasn’t the point of this exercise. 

He looked over, seeing that the king had waved his hand and that Jun was begrudgingly moving forward, standing beside the throne with his arms crossed. Jun was trying very hard to look bored, but Nino doubted that was the case. Their grandfather was doing this all intentionally. He wanted the entire court to see what his illegitimate desert rat of a grandson might do. He wanted the entire court to see Jun humiliated yet again.

Today Nino would earn the king’s respect and likely his brother’s enmity. And in the process, he didn’t know how much Masaki would be hurt. All for the greater good?

Nino moved to the first cookpot, Masaki mirroring his movements and standing on the other side. Nino set his hands down on the rim of the pot, not letting them shake despite the growing chill in his fingers, moving up his hands. Masaki placed his hands on the rim as well.

The room was so quiet, Nino could easily hear Masaki’s calm, even breathing across from him. In response, he offered a wicked smile.

“ _The wind blowing down mountains_ ,” he said quietly.

Nino kept his arrogant smile plastered on his face even as he saw Masaki’s large, expressive eyes redden and fill with tears. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Whatever power was used, it wasn’t instant. Perhaps Nino’s powers were still weak. Water gradually appeared in the cookpot, slowly filling as though an invisible faucet was above it. But there was no invisible hand turning it. Only the power of Masaki’s tears, the power of the curse running under Nino’s skin.

It was perhaps a minute before the enormous pot was full to the brim, and Nino took his hands away, droplets falling from his fingers. He didn’t react even when he saw the tears staining Masaki’s face. Because this wasn’t over. This was far from over.

“A cup!” the king called.

A servant emerged from the right side of the chamber, hurrying over with a jeweled cup. Only the most obnoxious in the king’s collection, Nino imagined. The servant knelt down, holding it out to Nino.

He dipped the cup into the cookpot, filling it and approaching the throne. The king took it and all eyes in the room were on the old man’s throat as he swallowed water down. When he lowered the cup, he looked deeply into Nino’s eyes, an expression that was neither pride nor suspicion.

“Fill them all,” he commanded.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The court seemed to collectively hold its breath as Nino moved from pot to pot, each time whispering the words that held unimaginable power, watching Masaki as he did as he was ordered. Masaki filled each pot to the edge until water flowed over Nino’s hands and he moved on to the next, letting the overflow splash out onto the floor to show off before stepping over to the next pot.

By the tenth cookpot, he could see how much it was weakening Masaki. He was thousands of miles from the sea, thousands of miles from the source of his power. His movements grew sluggish, his strength draining with every second that passed. Instead of a “Yes, Your Highness” with each command Nino whispered, he stopped talking altogether - nodding by the eighth cookpot, desperately trying to keep upright by the tenth.

Nino moved on to the eleventh as Masaki held on to the tenth pot. He wanted to stop this before Masaki was severely hurt. What did it prove if he filled twenty pots with water when he’d already filled ten of them? His power worked each and every time, and from the exhaustion in his face, the shaking of his jaw, Nino knew that Masaki wasn’t faking. He wasn’t pretending to be compelled.

Nino kicked at the empty copper cookpot before him with the toe of his boot, letting the clang ring out through the chamber. “You will obey me!”

Masaki shuffled along, clumsily moving his feet. Nino wasn’t sure how much more of this either of them could endure. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout his apologies until his throat was raw. But this was the price he had to pay.

He waited until Masaki was standing before him again, leaning heavily against the pot. His face was red and swollen, his nose dripping as his whole body shook. They were only halfway. But now they were at least far enough away from the throne for Nino to say something.

“Will you be able to finish?” he mumbled under his breath.

Masaki’s eyes were hazy, puffy from crying. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m truly sorry.”

“Please…” Masaki muttered, “just keep going.”

By the fifteenth filled pot, Masaki was crawling along the floor, body heaving. Nino berated him, kicking at the pots and letting the noise echo through the throne room. “What kind of god are you?” he shouted. “You are weak! You are nothing!” He kicked the pot again, taking comfort in the pain that radiated through his foot, up his leg. “You are mine to command!”

He could sense the air shifting in the room. The nobles and advisors and servants were petrified of the power Nino was showing. The king, however, was thrilled beyond measure. Rumiko as well, her smile visible from across the room. And Jun, Nino realized as he waited for Masaki to pull himself to the sixteenth pot…Jun had left the room entirely at some point. In disgust? In fear? Nino presumed it was the latter.

Jun’s remaining sway or goodwill at court had likely just vanished, all because of water in cookpots.

The twentieth cookpot filled the slowest of all, and Nino hid his horror at how much Masaki had changed from the first. He’d been standing tall, strong. Healthy, as much as a god might be judged to appear so. But now he looked nearly dead. All the color had drained from his face, and his eyes had swollen shut. 

He lay curled up on the floor in a near-fetal position, his hand pressed against the cookpot to give what strength he still possessed to fill it with water. His breaths were long and shuddering, and Nino had not heard such sounds since he’d been in the caravan. He’d heard these rattling breaths as he ground up a handful of peritos seeds to ease the suffering of a young boy who was only minutes away from passing into the next world. 

A god couldn’t die, Nino knew. Or at least that’s what the stories had always said. But the sight before him made him question what he thought to be true.

The pot was halfway full when he saw Masaki’s hand fall away, and he stopped moving. Nobody in the room made a move to help him, and Nino walked around the pot, sliding his arms under Masaki’s and dragging him across the floor, away from the pots and away from his suffering. A quiet moan let Nino know that he was ill, but he was still breathing. Still alive.

Nino hoped the king could not see him shaking in anger, shaking in self-loathing as he moved back to the twentieth cookpot. Nino shoved it with an agonized shout, letting out only a fraction of his fury at what he’d been made to do. The members of the Kingsguard closest to the sudden rush of water didn’t move a muscle, but the courtiers jumped away as the water splashed across the checkerboard floor, soaking their shoes.

He turned back to the king. “Your Majesty!” he shouted across the room, wanting nothing more than to look at Masaki, to help him. But he kept his gaze light and focused on his grandfather. His grandfather who had likely known all along how much this stunt would tax the god. All of this to see what Nino might accomplish. “Your Majesty, I’ve brought you water if you have thirst for it.”

To his surprise, the king rose from his throne. This prompted everyone in the room, from Rumiko down to the lowest servant, to fall to their knees. Even those who had moved away from the flood of water now knelt in it, unable to move.

“Kazunari, my blood,” the king declared, standing at the opposite end of his audience chamber, looking at Nino with sheer delight in his wrinkled face. “Most impressive.”

Nino didn’t kneel. He decided that after what he’d done that he’d never kneel to the man again. 

“My pleasure.”

—

Sho had taken the task of grinding up Nino’s kerida blossom upon himself, kneeling on a cushion before Nino’s sitting room table and pounding it almost to dust. Nino ignored the stink of it, pacing back and forth. His appetite had fled him anyhow.

“Wearing down the floor in here will not bring news to you any faster,” Sho reminded him.

“She said she would return within the hour!”

Sho returned his focus to the bowl before him. “It has not yet been an hour.”

“Within the hour means less than an hour, Sho.”

He could tell that Sho was trying not to laugh at him, but Nino wasn’t in the mood for it. The Kingsguard had dragged Masaki’s exhausted body from the audience chamber, but Nino had not been dismissed at the same time. Instead he’d had to play nice, making small talk with the king and his aunt who praised him for his outstanding performance.

They’d kept him there for nearly two hours, mostly the king regaling him with what he probably thought were shining examples of his dominance over the sons of the God of the Waters. Nino had had to stand there, tattooed arm hanging heavily at his side, weighed down with the enormity of the suffering he’d inflicted on Masaki. The king had gone on and on with stories of his youth. 

One time he’d had Satoshi forced down an empty well as punishment for some likely meaningless infraction, the king jokingly shouting “the wind blowing down mountains” every hour or so before slamming the well cover closed and leaving him alone once more. Satoshi had spent nearly two days in the dark, claustrophobic well, desperately creating water at a grueling pace in order to float himself back to the surface and to safety. The king told Nino this story with a twinkle in his eye, clearly fond of such a memory. Nino assumed Satoshi felt differently.

Masaki had once been personally tasked with halting the flow of water to an orphanage. One of the workers there had been accused of making threatening remarks about the king. The Kingsguard had been sent to patrol outside, to keep any of the people inside the orphanage from escaping. Masaki had been sat down before a pipe in the middle of the verdant, water-rich palace gardens, knowing that a few miles away innocent children were suffering from thirst. 

Instead of simply cutting off the water, Masaki had been ordered to keep already flowing water from moving further down the pipe, a task of concentration. If he lost control, if even a drop of water made its way to the orphanage before the criminal surrendered to the Kingsguard, then the orphanage would have been burnt to the ground with everyone still inside. It wasn’t so much a test of the criminal as it had been of Masaki’s own loyalty, his strength. The criminal surrendered after six days. Masaki had been left “incapacitated” by the incident, the king laughed, for another six after that.

And these were but two examples from Kotaro’s reign alone. The cruelty and abuse stretched back centuries. The kings and queens of Sorcerer Raku’s bloodline were born, lived, and died. The common factor through the years was their sadistic treatment of the gods who’d only been sent to provide help. 

Now Nino was one of them.

When he’d finally been dismissed from the audience chamber, he’d raced back to his room, grabbing hold of Mirei and almost shaking her by her narrow shoulders. “Find where they’ve taken him. Find where they’ve taken Masaki.”

And still she was gone, likely making the most delicate inquiries with other servants she deemed trustworthy. After Nino’s harrowing display in the audience chamber, he suspected that Mirei and the other girls would find themselves with greater power and clout in the servants’ quarters. While Nino had spent the last few weeks as a non-entity in the palace, he might now be its most infamous resident. He’d likely gain enemies, he was certain of it. Those loyal to the king might be concerned that Nino was powerful enough to overthrow him. Those loyal to Jun might resent him for the same reason.

But none of those politics mattered to him at present. He cared only about Masaki, his recovery. Nino knew dozens of remedies and solutions for illnesses, for exhaustion. Would any of them work on a god?

There was a knock at the door minutes later, and Nino hurried Mirei inside.

“Well, where have they brought him?” he said in a rush. “Did you find out? Is he going to be okay?”

She nodded. “He was brought to Prince Jun’s apartments.”

Nino was confused, hands on his hips. “On whose orders?”

“On Prince Jun’s orders, my lord.”

Then there was no way Nino would be able to see Masaki tonight. He’d been all but forgotten by his brother since he’d arrived at the palace. But today had changed all that, he was sure of it. Jun would not be extending any invites. Perhaps Nino would have to invite himself. He looked over, saw that Sho had stopped grinding up the kerida blossom.

“Will he be treated well there?” Nino asked Sho warily. Just because Jun was lacking in magic didn’t mean he was going to be sitting at Masaki’s bedside spoon-feeding him broth.

“Yes,” Sho mumbled in response. “He will be able to rest.”

“You speak like this isn’t the first time.”

“That’s because it’s not,” Sho replied.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. He better understood why his mother had never spoken of her life here. Nothing but violence begetting violence, barbarism begetting barbarism. He needed to get back to the library. He had to put a stop to this, once and for all.

He addressed Mirei. “I’ll be going to the library at first light. No visitors, no summons. If and when they ask, I am studying and will not be disturbed. That will be all.”

“Yes, my lord,” Mirei said, inclining her head and leaving the room.

He watched Sho put the ground up kerida blossom into a clean vial, watched him move to return it to the secret panel in the wall.

“He’s fond enough of you to have argued in favor of keeping you alive,” Nino said when Sho returned to him. “Prince Jun.”

Sho eyed him nervously.

“You will go to him tomorrow, and you will tell him I wish to become better acquainted with him. After all, we’re brothers.”

He saw Sho’s nose twitch. It was almost cute.

“You will not leave until a meeting is arranged in the next few days. A meal, perhaps, or a stroll in the gardens.”

“Why? You needn’t fear for Masaki. He is many things, but Prince Jun is not a monster. Masaki will not be harmed while in his care.”

“So you’ve said. But I will need allies in the days to come. I’m wondering if my brother should be among them.”

Sho’s brown eyes were curious. “This is about more than just breaking the curse now, isn’t it?”

Nino remembered his grandfather’s words, how easily he had described the torture he’d inflicted. His aunt was no different. Prince Yukio had spent a fruitless forty years trying to free Satoshi and Masaki. Nino didn’t have the luxury of time. He had to gather allies around him - Kotaro and Rumiko had to be stopped before things got any worse.

“Arrange a meeting. Dismissed.”

Sho bowed, leaving him alone.

Nino exhaled, tired after saying that simple phrase again and again. _The wind blowing down mountains_. It was nothing compared to what Masaki had endured, but he ached either way. He headed to his sitting room, the thin curtains blowing in the breeze. He moved to shut them completely when he felt a burning sensation start to seep up his arm.

He wasn’t alone.

Instead of closing the curtains, he pulled them wide with a flourish, startling the person who’d been sitting on the flat roof three floors up, spying on him. He was perched opposite Nino’s sitting room, barefoot with his slim but muscular legs dangling over the edge. 

Nino looked up at him, squinting in the moonlight as his legs started to move.

“Wait!” he called out, and the movements stalled. He left his sitting room behind, walking out into the small courtyard. Even with the gentle breeze, he felt a rush of warmth as he looked up at the shadowy figure on the roof.

He called out as loudly as he dared, not wanting his voice to carry to any other rooms in the residential wing.

“How long have you been watching me?”

Nino didn’t receive an answer, but the figure in the dark stayed put. He’d been in the palace for about a month now, and he’d felt uneasy several times, as though someone had been watching. Yet every time he’d come out, there’d been nothing. But now he was tattooed, now he bore his family’s birthright.

He didn’t need to see. He needed only to feel that familiar rush of heat.

“I won’t force an answer out of you, Satoshi,” he continued, unsure if he was cheered or frightened about being under a god’s surveillance. 

How much did Satoshi know? How much had Satoshi overheard? Conversations between Nino and his maids, Nino and Sho, Nino and Masaki? All of those conversations? None of them?

“If you’ve been up there a while, then you already know where he is,” Nino said. “Your brother. He’s in Jun’s apartments. He’s being helped.”

He felt slightly foolish, holding a one-sided conversation with a powerful god.

“I’m sorry,” he called out.

With nothing but that odd lingering silence hanging in the air, Nino gave up.

“Well,” he said, watching the unmoving pair of feet above him. “Good night then.”

He closed the curtains, the heat not fading from his tattooed arm even as he moved away and into his bedchamber. It clung to him, wrapped around him. Perhaps his eavesdropping god had no plans to move from his rooftop any time soon.


	6. Chapter 6

Sho returned with news later the following evening. He spoke in his overly polite, diplomatic tone. The tone Nino had asked him repeatedly to drop in his presence, but it seemed to be the only way Sho could manage to get his words out. At least where Jun was concerned.

“Prince Jun will meet you in the private baths a week from tomorrow.”

“A _week_?” He didn’t even want to complain about the planned venue. The baths?

Sho bowed his head in apology. “He leaves the capital tomorrow for a holiday in the north. To get away from the heat here.”

Nino narrowed his eyes. “And how long has he been planning this trip? I thought you heard all the gossip around here, Sho.”

Sho raised his head, perhaps a little annoyed that Nino found him lacking in some way. It was obvious that Yukio had never given Sho as much trouble as Nino did. “There was quite a lot of activity in his apartments this afternoon. Packing and such. Given the frenzied state of it, I’d say this was a rather impromptu holiday.”

Nino took this in, pacing the room. Jun had seen what Nino could do. He was still the heir in name, but how much longer would that last? Nino was illegitimate, but he had the power that Jun lacked. So Jun was likely fleeing the capital to determine his next steps or to find new allies since Nino supposed the ones he had at court might abandon him. 

“What about Masaki? What happens to him when Jun runs away?”

Sho made a face at Nino’s tone but otherwise spoke without emotion. “Princess Mariya will care for him. She is not accompanying the prince on his trip. And before you ask, yes, you can trust her in that regard.”

He chuckled. “My paranoia is that obvious to you?”

Sho offered a small smile. “Just a bit.”

“How long before he recovers?”

“Another day or two. I’m sure he’s endured far worse over the years than this.”

Nino wished Masaki didn’t have to endure anything at all, but that all depended on whether Nino could make quick progress or not.

He’d spent the better part of his day in the library, unraveling other scrolls and putting them aside to convince any spies among the library staff that his historical interests were eclectic. His remaining hours had been spent looking at a few of the unmarked shelves housing Raku’s notes. There was one phrase in particular he was looking for, perhaps the key to unlocking other mysteries.

He was looking for the symbols carved onto his skin. Or he was looking for their meaning written out, whether it was “the wind blowing down mountains” or simply the more modern character for “storm.” If Nino could find documents where Raku had written about the tattoos, then it might point him to other solutions.

The language was the thing, Nino had realized. He’d likely have to break the curse by speaking in the language of the gods. The language that nobody knew, at least nobody alive today. Sorcery had fallen out of favor, Rumiko had explained. Of course she’d somehow managed to teach herself bits and pieces, but she was the last person Nino could ask to advise him.

But he had a few ideas.

“Sho, I have another thing to ask of you.”

“Of course.”

Nino grinned. “How do I get onto the roof?”

—

The following night he put on the red servants’ robes that Sho had provided for him, dutifully covering up his tattoos and tying the black mourning ribbon around his sleeve. Sho’s room was on the third and top floor of the servants’ quarters, and a ladder to the roof was housed in one of the rooms nearby. In case of a fire or other emergency, any servants not assigned to a noble or royal dwelling on the palace’s ground floor were expected to climb the ladder and escape onto the roof.

The robes made him a person of little interest as he carefully walked down the corridor with his head down, heading for the stairs. Sho said that princes had been known to disguise themselves in this manner to meet with servant girls. Sho hadn’t bothered to speculate whether those dalliances were always consensual on the servant girls’ side. Nino shoved away thoughts of his mother. Even if her affair with Yukio had been a result of mutual attraction, that wasn’t necessarily a guarantee for others of her occupation.

It was likely best that any servants who might recognize his face in passing just assumed he was sleeping around. It was the better excuse to have if the king or Rumiko inquired about his nightly whereabouts.

Instead Nino made it up to the third floor landing, finding Sho standing in the doorway of his tiny bedchamber. Unlike the lower floors, the servants were tightly packed up here, sharing bathing facilities and living in rooms that could fit little more than the mattress they slept on.

Sho only offered him a nod before going into his room and shutting the door. He obviously didn’t approve of what Nino wished to do, but this was one area where Nino had decided not to rely on Sho’s counsel.

He moved swiftly down the hall and into the empty room with the ladder, shutting the door behind him. Unless there was a fire tonight, nobody would follow him. He climbed the ladder carefully, doing his best not to step on the flowing red material of the borrowed robes as he headed for the roof.

It wasn’t much more than a square wooden door with a hinge, and he turned the latch, pushing it up. The roof of the royal palace was flat stone and lacking in elegance. After all, most people viewed only the beautiful facade, its marble arches and the courtyard fountains. Nobody found themselves up here too often, save for whichever servant had the unpleasant task of cleaning bird shit from the stone.

The palace stretched on for acres, the roof interrupted here and there with rectangular or square openings, the fountains and courtyards and pools of the royal family and their privileged guests three floors below. He was a bit turned around, given the unnecessarily convoluted layout of the residential wing. It took him a few minutes to find the gap in the roof that allowed a spying god to look down on Nino’s own sitting room.

Helpfully, the god was doing just that, perched at the edge of the roof with his bare feet hanging over the side. Nino made no effort to disguise his footsteps as he approached, warmth crawling up his arm as he came closer. Satoshi made no effort to move either. Perhaps he’d expected Nino to come find him.

Without excusing his intrusion on the god’s nightly spying (or introspection), he sat right beside him, trying not to feel intimidated by the sheer drop to the pool in the courtyard below. He sat with a gentle sigh, crossing his arms.

“Good evening,” he said in greeting, knowing he was unlikely to get an answer.

And he didn’t.

Nodding in amusement, he looked aside, taking in the sight of the god beside him. Satoshi’s clothes were just as sloppy and old as the ones he’d been wearing that day in the storage room. Nino was almost reminded of some of the clothes he’d worn back in the caravan, when money and earnings might be better used to obtain food or plants he could use for healing rather than replace a stained pair of still functional trousers.

Satoshi sat, legs hanging over the edge, stretched back comfortably with his hands resting behind him. He was looking up at the moon, almost in another world. It took Nino by surprise a few moments later when Satoshi actually spoke.

“Your Highness.”

The voice of another god. There was nothing powerful about it. Just as Masaki’s voice had sounded like that of an ordinary man, calm and controlled, so was Satoshi’s. Although Satoshi made little effort to enunciate his words. He probably had little motivation to chatter, given how he’d been mistreated for so long.

“He speaks,” Nino joked softly, trying to ignore the warmth spreading beyond his tattooed arm and into his chest. He remembered the change that had come over Satoshi when Nino had given his command. The stubborn, resisting god’s face becoming the most beautiful, heartbreaking thing Nino had ever seen. 

The silence continued this time. Perhaps Satoshi only acknowledged him because he feared retaliation if he didn’t. Though Satoshi didn’t strike Nino as someone who was afraid very often. Nino decided it was on him to communicate.

“As I said to you the other night, I won’t force you to talk to me. But I was under the impression that you might someday wish to,” he said quietly. “Since you’ve likely been spying on me ever since I arrived here.”

He looked over again, saw that Satoshi’s expression hadn’t changed. He kept going anyway.

“I don’t know how often you speak with your brother, but he and I…he and I have had our ups and downs so far. You see, Masaki provided me with a very rare plant to ease my suffering after the words of your language were stabbed into my skin. And to return the favor, I did as my grandfather commanded, forcing your brother to provide water until he passed out in exhaustion. I nearly killed him.”

Satoshi exhaled hard, as though keeping up his silence was becoming more difficult. 

“The curse of my family, it’s a strong one. I can sit here by your side, at the side of a god, and tell you how I hurt your brother and yet you can’t do anything. You can’t even give me a shove, let me drop and crack my skull open down there. You can’t have the satisfaction of seeing my brains splattered across the stone, can you?”

He was rewarded this time with a smirk. Perhaps Satoshi spent most of his nights out here envisioning just that, Nino’s gruesome demise. Nino couldn’t fault him for it if he did.

“I’m sorry for that,” he said. “I’m sorry for all of it. A little more than a month ago, you were only a myth to me. A character in a childhood story. The two sons of the God of the Waters who came to this place to save us all. I’d half forgotten it, to tell you the truth, because it mattered so little to me. I grew up in a caravan, traveling the desert. I could never picture water like this, I couldn’t imagine water filling a pail or a cookpot or a pool by sheer magic. All the water I’ve known has been precious, hard-won. Not something to decorate your palace, but a commodity more valuable than gold.”

He uncrossed his arms, still feeling the warm throb of pleasurable pain in his tattooed flesh. He leaned back just as Satoshi did, mirroring him.

“You’ve been watching me, sitting up here who knows how many nights. Perhaps you’ve drawn your own conclusions about me. Or perhaps your brother has sought to influence your opinions. I have a brother now too. I didn’t have that before either, though he and I have not been properly acquainted yet. Either way, the reason I’ve come up here tonight, Satoshi, was to tell you that you don’t have to rely on whatever your godly ears pick up from what I say three floors down. You don’t have to rely on your brother’s impressions of me. I’m here if you have any questions or anything to say.”

The silence hung in the air for a solid minute. It seemed like Satoshi wasn’t terribly interested in talking to him. Which Nino felt was fair. But that didn’t mean he planned to stop trying. Satoshi had been watching him for a reason. Something about him had gotten the god’s attention.

He sighed, getting to his feet. Sho wasn’t going to like it, but he wasn’t getting those borrowed robes back any time soon.

“Prince Jun is leaving the palace for a holiday,” he continued, standing back a little from the edge to keep his fears at bay. “I’ve been told that his mother will be caring for your brother while he’s gone. I’m sure you already knew that, but, well, I’m still a newcomer here and I don’t know how quickly word spreads around about these things. Wanted to make sure you knew.”

Satoshi didn’t move a muscle, his dark and uncombed hair ruffling in the breeze.

“Okay. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll come visit with you another time. Good night.”

He was several paces away when he received a reply that warmed his arm (and the rest of him) once again.

“Good night, Your Highness.”

—

Nino made his way to the rooftop every night for the next week. No matter what time he left his room wrapped up in the red servants’ robes, Satoshi was already perched in his usual place, staring up at the night sky. He did little to change up his routine. He greeted Nino politely and bid him farewell politely. He never otherwise spoke. He never otherwise moved from his place.

Nino sat alongside him for hours, chatting about harmless topics until his tongue was heavy and his mouth was dry. Though he got zero response, he told Satoshi about life in the caravan. The constant moving from town to town. Living in a tent. Watching the Water Finding ceremony. Standing with townsfolk, helping them to dig through hard-packed soil or heavy sand to try and find new water sources. He could have told Satoshi the most outrageous lies, since it seemed like nothing he said made a bit of difference to the god. 

Perhaps it was cruel in its own way, chattering away like a fool and forcing Satoshi to put up with it. But Satoshi never made an attempt to move, no matter how long Nino sat there talking about himself. At first it had been difficult, speaking his words to the wind and getting absolutely nothing in return. But it grew easier in time. 

He had his reasons for doing so. Logically, he was opening himself up to a presumed enemy. He held power over Satoshi, true, but he didn’t use it. He didn’t use any of their quiet nighttime sessions to brag about his tattoos or what he could do. Instead he talked about the past, about his life before the complication of Amaterasu. He wanted Satoshi to know that he was a thinking and feeling person, not a monster like his ancestors. He thought that if he let himself be vulnerable around Satoshi that maybe it would help. He couldn’t do much about the imbalance between them, but he wanted Satoshi to know that he was real. That this wasn’t the life he’d envisioned for himself.

His other reasons were less logical. His guilt clung to him, suffocated him. He hated the idea that Satoshi might fear him. Well, perhaps not fear him but rather fear what the curse of his blood could do. He wanted to ease those fears as best he could. And then there was the other reason, the reason lingering in the back of his mind, where he thought about the first time they’d met. The time when he’d seen Satoshi cry. When the anger had fallen away, the heaviness of his life here in Amaterasu. In that moment, Nino had seen a different person. 

Selfish as it was, Nino wanted to meet that Satoshi again. He just hoped it would be under better circumstances. He wasn’t quite ready yet to digest what that might mean and how it might complicate his more noble-minded mission.

Either way, his evenings on the rooftop were a rather refreshing break from most of his conversations downstairs with Sho, going through the notes that he had snuck inside his clothes and smuggled out of the palace library. He’d found a few references to storms in one scroll, but after going over the antiquated language with Sho, they realized that it had only been about a series of freak storms in the Empire of Salt to the north. Nothing useful yet.

When he wasn’t in the library, vision blurring during hours of squinting at ancient text, Nino had been in “training” with Rumiko. Masaki had recovered a few days earlier, but thankfully he nor his brother had been called upon to test Nino’s powers again. Instead Rumiko had taught him a few more words. Combined with those already carved into his flesh, he could exert his will in different ways.

They walked the palace and the gardens together. With only “the wind blowing down mountains,” Masaki and Satoshi would fill whatever was before them, whether it was a pot or an elaborate fountain. With more targeted language, Nino could offer more specific instructions.

He learned the words for north, west, south, and east. The words for up and down, near and far. Combined with words in his own language like fountain, well, or pipe and even numbers, he could order Satoshi or Masaki to attend to things without him having to be present. It was a crude combination of languages, the common tongue and the divine, but apparently the Matsumoto royals had relied on it for generations since those who had properly studied the language of the gods had all died off. Or perhaps they had been killed by a king gone mad and jealous of sharing his power, sharing the words that were his to use and not the purview of scholars.

None of the words Rumiko taught him would likely break the curse. 

Come morning, Jun would return and Nino would meet with him privately for the first time. In Jun’s absence, Nino had taken the time to go into the underground passages beneath the palace. The passages had been here long before the rest of the palace, cool caves that offered a welcome respite from the desert heat. The exits had been closed off, sealed so that entry was only possible from the palace above. Unlike the rest of the palace grounds, the water in the baths was all natural, coming from a spring deep within the ground rather than from the sacrifice of the gods. 

With Sho at his side, he’d taken in the grand pool that dominated the main chamber, the water lying still under the high, arched ceilings. The walls were painted red and yellow, looking bloody in some areas, sickly in others. Aside from the main pool, there were smaller grottoes down twisting paths, hidden away for more private pursuits. There were heated pools and cold ones depending on who wished to use them. But they largely sat empty, intended only for royal use.

Nino wasn’t sure what to think of his brother’s choice of venue. Tomorrow would be a time to be cautious, to gauge what Jun thought of him and how it might affect his plans moving forward.

But that was for him to worry about in the morning. For now, he could mostly relax.

He climbed the ladder to the roof as he had so many nights already, looking forward to the peace and quiet offered. Even with the bustling palace underfoot, Nino was almost reminded of the quiet of the vast deserts away from the capital. The sands he’d traveled for year after year, thinking only of when he might escape them. He longed for that now, for that simpler existence. For the stink of a camel under him, the swaying motion lulling him in and out of sleep as the caravan progressed beneath a sea of stars. The only sea Nino had ever known. 

Satoshi probably had a different sea in mind when he looked up into the sky, silent and alone.

Nino made his way across the roof, wondering if he’d been turned around by accident. Because the roof was empty. Wasn’t this where Satoshi sat? Wasn’t that his own courtyard down below? He looked around, confused. Perhaps he’d been foolish to expect Satoshi to endure him and his stories for yet another night.

He turned when he heard a hissing whisper in the distance. It wasn’t Satoshi. It was Sho.

“Come quickly,” Sho was calling out to him, still standing near the open door above the ladder. “Nino, come quickly!”

He rushed over, not caring if there might be servants in the rooms below wondering what was happening up top. He reached out, grabbing hold of Sho by his arm.

“What’s wrong?”

“The king had need of Satoshi tonight. I’ve only just learned…”

Nino’s heart sank.

“Where is he now?”

“If he’s weakened, I’m not sure. He’s been known to hide in these situations…”

“Sho, make an intelligent guess.”

“It seems the king was dissatisfied with one of the garden fountains. He had it totally drained so it might be refilled. Satoshi was sent out before sundown, but those fountains hold a great deal of water.”

“There are things I will need first,” he said, mind racing at what he might be able to do.

“What kind of things?” Sho reached over, resting his hand against Nino’s shoulder. “You must be careful. Satoshi is acting on the king’s orders, and you cannot interfere.”

“Then nobody can find out, can they?”

Sho sighed. “Very well.”

—

An hour later they found Satoshi kneeling before a fountain in the southeast quadrant of the palace gardens. Nino had walked the gardens with Rumiko the last several days and knew how to best dodge the Kingsguard’s patrols. Night was an added challenge, but their patterns remained predictable.

Nino felt that now familiar burst of heat rush up his arm as soon as he came close enough. Satoshi had his hand pressed against the stone rim of the large fountain, but his grip faltered in the instant that Nino approached. Perhaps the feeling worked in each direction.

“Serve as lookout,” Nino told Sho. “Just around that bend. Whistle if someone approaches.”

Sho wasn’t pleased with the order. “Be quick about it.”

Nino smirked at Sho’s attitude, amused. His bossiness was rather endearing. Sho did as told, though, setting down the basket of items from the storeroom of the palace physician. The guard standing outside had not objected to Nino entering, and it was unlikely the man had known what Nino was taking with him.

With Sho gone, Nino hoisted the basket into his arms, moving to sit on the edge of the fountain with Satoshi kneeling just beside him. He could hear the gentle rush of the water as it sloshed behind him. Draining the fountain had likely been unnecessary, an act performed only by a sadistic fool like his grandfather. It was a waste of Satoshi’s talents, forcing him to remain here until the job was finished to Kotaro’s satisfaction.

“You weren’t in your usual spot,” Nino said quietly, setting the basket down beside him. He took out a mortar and pestle, squinting in the faint starlight to find the packets of herbs that he needed.

“Your Highness,” Satoshi acknowledged, his voice utterly exhausted. But still he held tight to the fountain, concentrating on the task at hand.

“I’m not sure any of the things I’ve brought will work on a god, but I suppose it doesn’t hurt to try.”

At that, Satoshi removed his hand from the fountain, looking up from where he was kneeling. For what might have been the first time since they’d started their late night meetings, he looked up into Nino’s face.

“What are you doing?”

Nino tried desperately to ignore the way his tattoo throbbed as a full sentence dropped from the lips of the god beside him. It hadn’t felt like this when Masaki had spoken to him. He worked through the pain, opting for one of his most reliable powders. Four ingredients in equal portions, pounded to dust, mixed with a few mint leaves and some sticky Callavan oil. Not the most pleasant taste.

“This is called Callavan’s Revival,” he explained. “Might have mentioned it to you the other night.”

Satoshi hadn’t moved his hand back to the fountain. He was so unnerved by Nino’s arrival that he was now directly violating what the king had ordered. He wondered if Satoshi’s pain increased the longer he delayed.

“In case you’ve forgotten, which is likely given that I probably told you every single concoction I can make the other night, Callavan’s Revival is often fed to horses suffering from exhaustion in the desert. Not that I’m comparing you to a horse, Satoshi, but I’ve seen how overexerting yourself can be damaging. Instead of seeing you pass out here so you might bake under the sun tomorrow until this fountain is full, I’m hoping that swallowing this will revive you somewhat.”

He finished mixing the solid ingredients, reaching into the basket for the mint, tugging a few leaves and sprinkling them into the mortar. The night’s darkness didn’t slow him down. Nino was certain he could make dozens of things without needing his eyes open. Such was the expertise of a healer.

“I’m just going to mix this with the Callavan oil, and it will be ready in just a moment.”

“No.”

He looked over, seeing that Satoshi had turned back to his task. His hand was back on the fountain now and presumably he had resumed filling it. Nino frowned.

“No?”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“I don’t even know if it’s going to help you. Indulge me.”

“If you tell me to take it, then I will take it.”

This was the most Satoshi had spoken, but it wasn’t the type of response Nino had expected. He stopped grinding the ingredients together, reaching a hand out, stopping just short of resting it on Satoshi’s shoulder. “I’m not forcing or ordering. I just want to help.”

“I belong to this family so do as you must.”

“You don’t belong to anyone. What’s been done to you is wrong, and I’m doing my best to fix it.”

“I’ve said what I think, Matsumoto Kazunari. But if you insist I take it, then I will take it.”

“You’re misunderstanding me,” Nino pleaded, wondering if his weeklong exercise in opening himself up to Satoshi had been pointless.

“You’re the one who is misunderstanding,” Satoshi said, his voice sharp and menacing.

“I just want to help you feel better!” he hissed.

“You want to make _yourself_ feel better!” Satoshi shot back, raising his voice for the first time. 

The mortar slipped from Nino’s hand. Before it could hit the paving stones, Satoshi had reached out a hand, catching it deftly. The reflexes of a god, even a weakened one. He set it on top of the fountain at Nino’s side. A bit had spilled over the edges, but the majority of the Callavan’s Revival had been saved.

He shut up, dropping the wet pestle into the basket beside him with a heavy thump. Since Sho hadn’t whistled or come to chide them for being loud, he assumed that Satoshi’s outburst had thankfully gone unnoticed.

Nino sighed in frustration, resting his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. Had Yukio ever felt this way?

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked uselessly, voice shaking. “What the _fuck_ am I supposed to do here?”

A few moments passed, and he tried to breathe, to clear his mind. This was stupid. This wasn’t working. He wasn’t going to save Satoshi or Masaki by being friendly. It didn’t really matter how he treated them. Releasing them was the only thing that mattered. Once freed, they’d likely never give him a second thought. After hundreds of years of torment, Nino’s actions, Nino’s time in Amaterasu would be like the time between breaths, the time between heartbeats.

Short. Meaningless.

He was startled then when he heard Satoshi let out a soft laugh, a chuckle under his breath.

“What?” he asked quietly.

Satoshi’s shoulders were shaking in amusement, and he reached forward, grabbing hold of the mortar he’d caught. Nino watched as he swirled his finger around in it before bringing it to his lips and swallowing Callavan’s Revival down.

Nino waited for an answer. He almost thought Satoshi wasn’t going to give him one, but finally the god flexed his fingers, repositioning his hand against the fountain.

“You’re the first one I’ve ever yelled at like that. The first one I’ve been able to tell what I really felt and I…”

Nino leaned forward, watching the awkward smile cross the god’s face. It changed him completely, that smile. Made him look gentle, kind. Different. Different in the way that made Nino’s stomach tie itself in knots.

“You’re laughing because you were able to tell me to go fuck myself, is that it?”

Satoshi turned the smile to him, letting it fade slightly. He still seemed a bit shocked by his own reaction. “Yes.”

Nino narrowed his eyes. “Terrific.”

“You don’t…you can’t possibly…” Satoshi chuckled again, a whimsical sound that made Nino realize that he was in danger. Not the danger faced by a young royal in the Amaterasu court. 

Rather, the danger and the anxiety that came with finally admitting to yourself that you care for someone.

“I’m forbidden to harm you,” Satoshi explained. “Not just physically. When someone in your bloodline gives an order, I obey. When your family’s tattoos tell me to give water, I obey. Until now, all I could do was obey. You’re the strongest in generations and I just…”

Nino listened to Satoshi’s astonished, almost arrogant laughter, torn between the embarrassment that came with being teased and the sheer delight that was hearing Satoshi laugh, showing his feelings so openly. 

“I was able to tell you no,” Satoshi said, still laughing.

It was the most incredible sound Nino had ever heard, the laughter of a stubborn god.

“Tell me something…” When Satoshi’s laughter died down, Nino cleared his throat. “Sorry, I shouldn’t phrase things like a command. Let me instead just ask. Did the Callavan’s Revival help?”

Satoshi was focused on the fountain. “Not really.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Satoshi said. His voice was lighter now. “Thank you.”

He was grateful Satoshi could not see him blush. “It was arrogant of me,” Nino mumbled. “Feeding horse cures to an immortal.”

“Masaki is right about you,” Satoshi admitted, though he didn’t bother to elaborate on what that meant.

The moment between them was finally broken when Sho came around the corner, voice hushed. “Fairly certain the patrol will pass this way to check on his progress.”

“Then I’ll leave you alone,” Nino said, getting to his feet and gathering up his items and putting them in the basket. The last thing he wanted to do was get Satoshi in trouble. “Good night.”

“Good night, Your Highness.”

—

He used what influence he’d gained over the Kingsguard to ensure that nobody else entered the private baths underground while he and Jun met. 

Nino brought Sho with him, taking the stone steps back down to the pools beneath the palace. The main pool was empty, and Sho led him down one of the narrow side paths. Coming around a corner, they arrived at one of the hot private baths, the chill in the cave lessened by the steam. It was carved out of the cave wall, a deep pool with a ledge jutting out for bathers to sit within. More hot water gushed out from a crevice in the wall to the side of the pool, the bubbling noise not likely to block all conversation but perhaps some.

He wasn’t surprised to find the heir to the throne relaxing in the hot water, resting his back against the stone with his arms out to his sides, perched out of the water. If he feared Nino, he was attempting to convey the opposite, as he’d chosen to bathe without a stitch of clothing on. Nino’s brother was finely formed, muscular and strong, and he knew it. His dark hair was wet, slicked back from his face, and he had a young woman to either side of him. Upon Nino’s arrival, one of the women leaned over as if on cue, pressing her mouth against Jun’s neck. The prince chuckled in amusement, leaning back to expose more of his skin to her.

The other woman’s hands were under the water, perhaps otherwise occupied.

“Brother,” Jun declared, making no attempt to get up. His voice was clear and joking as it had been the first day they’d met. “At last.”

Nino looked aside, saw that Sho was behind him, eyes down, on his knees in deference to the prince. “Am I interrupting?” Nino inquired, standing at the edge of the pool opposite Jun and his elaborate charade.

“I cleared my busy schedule just for you,” Jun replied.

Nino raised an eyebrow. “And your friends?”

Jun grinned, licking his lips. “Well, perhaps I didn’t clear everything.” He turned to the woman beside him, letting her kisses find his mouth instead of his neck. Nino looked away, trying not to laugh. Jun likely thought this would put him off, send him away. After all, it worked on everyone else, this playboy act of his.

“Perhaps Sho was imprecise when I sent him to you last week. I requested a private meeting with you.”

Jun finally let out a heavy sigh, breaking away from his companion. With only a look, he dismissed the two women. They made no effort to move with any speed, and Nino ignored their lithe, wet bodies as they came out of the water, reaching for their silk robes. Instead he looked at the inside of his brother’s bared left arm. The tattoos there looked no different from Nino’s, even after fourteen years. 

When the women finally disappeared around the corner, Nino waved a hand for Sho. “Please make sure Prince Jun’s companions find their way to their rooms.”

Jun smiled as Sho quietly rose to his feet. “Do come back, Sho,” he said teasingly. “I know you’ve missed me.”

Sho said nothing as he left, heading off to ensure that Jun’s companions didn’t stick around to eavesdrop. When they were alone, Nino sat down on the ground, watching Jun from across the pool. 

“You don’t want to get in?” Jun brought a hand down to the water, splashing gently. “It’s rather nice.”

“No, thank you.”

Jun sighed, leaning back and shutting his eyes. He didn’t seem to mind his vulnerable position. “I’ve spent the last week pondering what you want from me. At first I thought you wanted to ask me to step aside. After that ridiculous show you put on in Grandfather’s chamber, I thought I should expect it. But then I thought a bit more. You’re quite powerful now, Little Usurper. You don’t need to ask.”

“Isn’t that the king’s decision to make?” Nino asked carefully. “Who succeeds him?”

Jun still hadn’t opened his eyes, his hand gently skimming across the steaming water. “Grandfather has Rumiko’s poison tongue by his ear. She loathes me, and now she’s pulled you from a sand dune, fully formed and ready to carry on the family legacy. Bit scrawny for a king, but it’s not as though your people will ever see you.”

“You think I’ve come here to brag?” Nino wondered. “You think I’ve come to tell you that your time is at an end?”

Jun opened his dark, clever eyes. “Haven’t you?”

He spoke plainly. “No, Jun, I haven’t come to brag. I’ve come to meet you.”

Jun raised his arms, droplets scattering as he waved them. “Here I am.”

“No,” Nino replied. “I’m not here to meet Matsumoto Jun, the indifferent prince. I’m here to meet the real Matsumoto Jun.”

Jun lowered his arms, crossing them over his chest. “There is only one me, brother.”

“And I would argue that’s not true. Out of favor with your grandfather. Out of favor with your father. The powers of your birthright never materializing. It’s enough to drive any man over the edge, surely. Any man might revolt against such injustice, get himself exiled or killed after fighting to regain his pride. Instead you’ve fashioned this character, this farce, and you wear it well. A man of apathy, a man of decadent pleasures.”

Jun said nothing, waiting for him to finish.

“You wear it to hide your real agenda, to hide your intelligence. And to hide your heart.”

“You’ve got it all figured out then?” Jun spat.

“You could have let Sho die,” he said sharply. “A Matsumoto descendant of Sorcerer Raku doesn’t look upon a servant and see a human being. He sees a tool to be used, an object. He doesn’t argue for a traitor to live. And the man you pretend to be, who cares only about the next mouth around his cock, why would he argue for a traitor to live? What does he care about the life or death of a servant when there are hundreds here?”

Nino tilted his head, smiling.

“You hid your heart well, Jun. You cloaked yourself in protocol, asking for a stay of execution in honor of Yukio’s death. You didn’t dare ask for the death sentence to be lifted entirely, you’re not stupid, but you found a way to save him without having to look weak.”

“Why do you dwell on the subject of my father’s loyal lapdog? He means nothing to me.”

“Then why did you save him?” He laughed. “If he means nothing to you, then why did you save him?”

Jun’s irritated look assured him that he was right. Had nobody else ever bothered to really understand him? 

“As I said, I’ve come to meet you. Not overthrow you. If this is the person you’re going to be every time, this…pathetic narcissist, then I don’t think we will ever meet again, brother. But if you show me the real Matsumoto Jun, then I will show you the real Ninomiya Kazunari.”

He got to his feet, turning his back on Jun and walking away. 

“Matsumoto.”

Nino paused, not turning around.

“You may have lofty aspirations, but you are a Matsumoto the same as me,” Jun’s low voice threatened him. “The same as our grandfather, and the same as that witch. The same as Raku centuries ago. I watched what you did to Masaki. Whatever your excuse, however you managed to justify it to yourself, you are complicit in the suffering of the gods. That is the real you.”

He took a breath, acknowledging the truth of Jun’s words. For the first time, Nino had heard the real Matsumoto Jun. He wanted to hear more. But he had to leave that choice to Jun.

“Enjoy your bath,” Nino replied, walking away.

—

Rumiko sent Masaki to the fruit groves with Nino just before dawn a few days later. Target practice, his aunt had said, a way to test Nino’s evolving skills.

They walked the extensive palace grounds in silence, Nino with a bag slung over his shoulder and Masaki always deliberately a step behind him to assure the Kingsguard that he knew his place behind royalty.

The air was perfumed with the scent of orange and grapefruit. Later that morning servants would gather fruit that had fallen during the night or pick what was ripe on the trees. For now, they’d have a few hours alone. It spoke of Rumiko’s trust in him, sending them off to the groves alone. He decided to at least take advantage of it.

Inside his bag he had ingredients for at least a dozen different curatives. Even though the Callavan’s Revival had done nothing for Satoshi, Masaki seemed willing to test alternative solutions. Unlike his brother, Masaki was happy to accept Nino’s charity, even if nothing worked.

When Nino tried to apologize for what had happened in the audience chamber, Masaki had shaken his head. “My eyes are open, Ninomiya Kazunari. My eyes have always been wide open.”

Masaki knew the difference between Nino’s predecessors and Nino himself. That didn’t ease his suffering, Nino knew, but the god was insistent about making that distinction.

Nino practiced his new words. He asked for the wind blowing down mountains and he asked for it to come from above a tree, to fall down through its branches. Masaki did exactly as commanded. But instead of moving on to the next test, Nino ground up herbs and dried berries, stirred in liquids of all sorts, from the bile of a desert footworm to the milk from a coconut. 

After each command, he had Masaki try something new and offer feedback. With the frequent breaks, he also hoped that Masaki wouldn’t tire as quickly regardless of what cures Nino was feeding him.

When Masaki had made water soak into the roots of a tree, turning the soil wet and heavy all around them, Nino sighed. “Perhaps I should have specified the amount of water.”

Masaki seemed to be having fun, under orders or not. Nino stirred a medicinal powder and honey into a cup of water, handing it over before cleaning mud from between his toes. 

“This is good!” Masaki cheered, his friendly voice a bit scratchy, tired from their long morning together.

Nino’s spirits lifted. “It’s good? It’s helping you?”

Masaki chuckled, shaking his head. “No. Sorry. It just…tastes quite lovely.”

“Oh.”

“It’s probably from the honey,” Masaki added.

“Thank you for your unnecessary comments,” he grumbled. He had to start over.

Masaki grinned. “There was a servant girl, many many years ago. She always gave me massages when her mistress, the Queen, wasn’t around. To ease my tired muscles.”

Nino raised an eyebrow. “And did they work?”

“She was a very sweet girl.”

“Bad, huh?”

The god laughed. “She poked around in places that weren’t as sore as others, if you follow me.”

Nino dug around inside his bag to keep from blushing. Masaki and Satoshi had been here for a very long time. Kings, queens, servants…they’d lived and died and been replaced. The stories about the gods had always been so pure in tone. As a boy, Nino had learned of the two sons of the God of the Waters, obeying their father’s command and going to Amaterasu. He wondered if there were other stories, stories of the gods without a pure moral message.

If the gods looked like humans, or rather, if humans were made in the image of the gods, then did the gods have the same needs? They didn’t need sleep, but they needed rest. He didn’t know if Masaki ate often, but he seemed to enjoy the concoctions Nino was giving him. Did the gods ever want companionship? Or was that forbidden to them here?

He didn’t want to consider the other side of that coin. If his ancestors had used and abused Masaki and Satoshi for their water-creating abilities, what other uses might they have found for a handsome god who had no choice but to obey them?

“Let’s move to the next row of trees, and I’ll try something new,” Nino said instead, shaking away the idea.

They found a ladder, and Nino put a tin bucket used for fruit-picking up in the tree, balancing it against a thick branch. He asked for the wind blowing down mountains, requesting that Masaki fill the bucket overhead with enough to make it topple out of the tree. By the time that was done and the bucket fell, splashing water all the way to the ground, Nino had something new for him to try.

He’d merely filled a cup with water from the jug he was carrying, stirring in a pinch of salt. He held it out, determined. He spoke the words his aunt had taught him, but he chose to use them in a different context, combining them with a command in only the common tongue.

“Masaki. Drink of _the far place_.”

This time, when Masaki brought the glass to his lips, swallowing, Nino noticed the change almost instantly. Masaki held the glass away from him in shock, his eyes filling with tears of surprise.

“What’s…what’s in this one?”

“Water. And salt. That’s it.”

“Water and salt,” Masaki mumbled.

“Sea water. I commanded you to drink of ‘the far place’. I thought maybe the taste of that coupled with my order might help you to imagine your home.”

Tears fell from Masaki’s blinking eyes and he laughed. “It’s…it’s close. It’s been so long, I thought I’d forgotten but…Ninomiya Kazunari…”

He rested a hand on Masaki’s shoulder, his command as gentle as he could manage. “Drink of _the far place_ again.”

Masaki obeyed, tears spilling out with a fierceness that brought tears to Nino’s own eyes. “It’s helping. It’s…truly helping.”

It wasn’t the salt water alone. It was the word that held power. It was _the far place_.

“What are the words in your language for healing?” he pressed. “Can you tell me? What about medicine? Or soothe, maybe soothe would be good for me to know…”

Masaki drained the glass, handing it back and shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? I know you’ve been living here a long time, but it’s your language…”

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” he replied quietly, eyes still swimming. “I honestly can’t tell you.”

It ached to hear it. “That’s part of the curse, too? You can’t speak your own language here?” He remembered the day that Masaki had referred to him as a “last hope,” but it had been in the common tongue. 

“The only time I hear the words of my people are when they roll off a Matsumoto’s tongue. Ninomiya Kazunari, don’t you think that I would have said something all these years? If I could have taught a human the words for healing or even curse-breaking that I wouldn’t have tried?”

He looked down. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking…”

To his surprise, Masaki leaned forward, embracing him. His body was cool, even as the sun had arrived overhead. Why was he the one offering comfort? Nino couldn’t understand it.

“Don’t apologize,” Masaki whispered. “You are the first to use my language here for something positive. The first.”

“Not even Yukio?”

“He didn’t think the way you do. He was not a healer. He provided us safe haven when we were exhausted, but he never thought to do more than that. ”

He let Masaki go, not wanting the Kingsguard to see and misinterpret. He wiped his eyes, irritated that another possible solution had slipped away. 

“Both you and Satoshi are forbidden to speak your language?”

“Yes.”

“Even with each other?”

“Of course,” Masaki said, smiling even through his tears. “They would have assumed we were plotting against them. And they’d have been right.”

“I can’t even imagine,” he mumbled. 

He’d grown up speaking the common tongue, then reading it when his parents had taught him. He didn’t know any other languages, maybe only a handful of words from the countries along the Sun Kingdom’s borders, but those were only words for bartering and trading. Sorcerer Raku had been cruel in the extreme. Stealing the sons of the God of the Waters. Abusing their powers. Trapping them inside the palace walls. And taking away their language, their identity. Taking that language and using it to subdue them. He wondered if Masaki or Satoshi had come to hate the words, hate how they’d been twisted.

“When we first arrived here, my brother wanted to see how far it went. After all, they’d used our language to trap us here. I remember him sitting at a table night after night, a piece of paper before him and a pen in his hand. He tried to write the simplest characters. Water. Home. Even his name. And nothing. No matter how hard he pressed that pen to paper, he couldn’t move his hand. It wasn’t easy seeing him like that, when he finally understood the full extent of what had been stolen from us.”

“He’s your older brother?”

Masaki grinned. “In a manner of speaking.”

“I’m guessing it would be rude to ask how old you both are?”

“It wouldn’t.”

Nino let out an irritated sigh. Masaki liked to tease. “How old are you? And your brother?”

“We’re not old, at least not the way you’d expect when you wonder about a god. That’s a silly word, god,” Masaki mumbled. “All I knew growing up was the sea. We didn’t really think of ourselves as powerful. There were many of us, many of Father’s children. We were all the same. I…I guess you could say we looked a bit different, back home.” Masaki placed a hand to his chest, exhaling. “We didn’t need lungs quite like these.”

Nino put the empty water glass and his other supplies back in his bag. They’d done enough training for now. He started to walk, Masaki following one step behind until they came upon a fountain, sitting down on a bench to watch the water flow freely.

“We aged as you do, back home, but at a different pace. We were born, we grew up, we grew old. You had a few choices when you grew old. You could stay as you are, old as the ocean. You might fade away peacefully, but it takes ages. Father…Father was the oldest of us all. You could ask to be reborn, to return again as one of our kind or as a creature of the deep. Few people chose that last one. It’s always strange to consider living a full, long life and then willfully choosing to return instead as an eel.”

Nino listened intently. He wondered how many times Masaki had told this story over the centuries. Surely Nino was not the only one who’d ever been curious.

“So when you ask me how old I am, Ninomiya Kazunari, that’s not rude. But it’s not simple. When Father sent me and Satoshi here, I’d been living for only thirty-four years. Satoshi for thirty-six. Compared to Father, compared to so many others, it was as though we’d only just been born. Our lives until that point were a blink of an eye to my father.”

Masaki smiled sadly.

“We were just kids, I suppose, but Father sent us here with bodies that matched our ages in human years. And since we’ve been here, our bodies have not changed. They haven’t aged. Only our minds, our souls. We had to grow up quickly.”

“And if I’m able to set you free? You will go back to the sea?”

“I know that’s what Satoshi wants. It’s why he’s always looking east. It’s a view I doubt he’ll ever tire of.”

Nino nodded in understanding. Satoshi always sat in the same spot on the roof, he realized. He faced the night sky, but specifically, the eastern sky. The Great Sea lay thousands of miles away. Perhaps that spot on the roof had been Satoshi’s usual spot for decades. Nino moving into the rooms below might have just been a coincidence.

“I’m sure I’d want to go back, too.”

“I’m of two minds myself,” Masaki admitted. “The human world…I’ve seen so little of it. Yukio took me with him that one time, but that’s really the only time I’ve been beyond these walls. What would be the harm in having a look outside? But then there’s the sea. There’s my home.”

“Satoshi doesn’t have much interest in our world.”

Masaki shook his head. “He was always curious, but only about the things that interested him. Otherwise, he could be rather…lazy. He was bold, stubborn…well, that much hasn’t changed about him, as I’m sure you’ve witnessed…”

Nino couldn’t help chuckling softly, almost missing that warmth that signaled that the god was near.

Masaki’s voice was shaky when he spoke again. “But he was so kind and so gentle. Father chose him for a reason. Father wanted to show the humans that we were kind.”

Nino looked down, ashamed.

“This place killed that person, squeezed the joy and the curiosity and the sweetness out of him,” Masaki insisted. “What’s left is a shell. I wonder if Father will even recognize him if he returns.”

“That’s not true,” Nino whispered.

“You’ve seen him…he’s…”

“He laughed,” Nino confessed. “I…I heard him laugh the other night.”

Masaki reached out his hand, taking hold of Nino by the chin, turning his head so he could look into his eyes. His grip was cold, but Nino didn’t budge or protest. He wasn’t afraid.

“You speak the truth.”

“He was laughing _at_ me, if you’re wondering.”

Masaki let him go, looking embarrassed for having touched him without permission once more, even though Nino had quite liked the feeling of a god’s embrace, his touch. It seemed as though both brothers had been able to slightly bend the rules set upon them so many years ago.

“You’ve made him cry and you’ve made him laugh. Sounds I haven’t heard from him in…well…”

Nino waved his hand. 

“I thought I had truly lost him, long ago,” Masaki admitted.

“Then I’ll do my best to make a fool of myself from now on so he might always have reason to laugh.”

Masaki jostled his shoulder playfully. “You are a peculiar human, Ninomiya Kazunari.”

_Matsumoto_ , he heard Jun’s voice say in the back of his head.

Nino got to his feet, determined. “We should get back to work.”


	7. Chapter 7

Restoring the fountain had likely tired Satoshi more than he’d let on the other night. He made no appearances on the rooftop, no matter what hour Nino glanced up from his courtyard, hoping for the sight of bare feet.

He devoted his time to the library and Raku’s scrolls, sitting at the table desperate to understand what had been written. Much of what he was finding now had symbols on them, occasionally a translation into the common tongue beside them. But the ink had faded in so many places. He wondered if he could find a way to sneak things to Masaki - even if the god couldn’t speak or write his language, perhaps he could answer Nino’s questions. 

But that was for another day.

Mirei came hurrying into the sitting room without her usual knock after dark one night, and Nino nearly toppled the lantern he and Sho were using to read.

“Prince Jun is coming. I’ll try and delay him.”

“Sho, quickly,” Nino hissed, and they gathered up their contraband, Sho hurrying into the other room to hide it.

Mirei fled to stand outside the door, to do her utmost to delay the prince’s arrival. Nino got to his feet, making sure nothing of their secret work might be visible. But he soon discovered that Jun wasn’t coming to uncover his secrets.

He heard Mirei’s protests at the door, and he went to it himself, opening it before Jun said or did something rude. “Thank you, Mirei. Good evening, brother. What has you so out of breath tonight?”

He was rather surprised at the sight of his brother. There was none of his usual calm, none of his arrogance or swagger. Something was wrong.

“Let me inside.”

“Typically you have to ask permission, especially when someone is older than you. Let me help. ‘Kazunari, my dear brother. Will you grant me the honor of…’”

Jun shoved his way inside. “I don’t have time for this.”

Nino followed him in, closing the door quickly so nobody in the hall might overhear. Sho was already on the floor, head bowed, but Jun apparently didn’t have time for that show of deference either. He reached for Sho’s robes, yanking him to his feet. Nino didn’t even have a moment to protest before Jun had hauled Sho across the room, slamming him back against the wall, rattling the artwork.

Jun’s arm was across Sho’s throat, his voice menacing. 

“One of them was turned,” Jun growled in Sho’s face. “I know you trained them all. Which one was it?”

Nino approached cautiously, not daring to raise his voice. He held up his hands in a defensive posture. “Let him go.”

“Which one was it?” Jun pressed, and Sho’s eyes went wide as he shook his head.

“He can’t answer your question if you choke him.”

Jun eased up a little, but didn’t let Sho go. But Nino was confused by the tears in Jun’s eyes. He was showing weakness. Almost too much. Something was very wrong here, and apparently only Sho had an answer.

“I’ve been in here with him the whole night, Jun,” Sho said, looking Jun straight on, using his name in a tone so informal Nino wondered if he’d been deceived all this time. By both of them. “If something has happened, we haven’t been told about it.”

“That witch has had my mother arrested,” Jun explained, voice shaking. “Evidence was planted in her apartments. The King’s schedule, the King’s dinner menus. She’s made it look like my mother was plotting assassination, poisoning.”

Sho lifted his hand, wrapping it around Jun’s forearm. Neither of them looked away from one another’s face. Nino watched carefully, barely remembering to breathe. He watched as Sho gave Jun’s arm a tug, forcing him to back off.

Who was this Sakurai Sho? Where had he been hiding all this time?

“I had nothing to do with this.”

“You’d already be dead by my hand if that were the case,” Jun insisted, finally stepping back and pacing the floor. 

Nino was exasperated. “Would someone like to loop me in on the conversation here? You’re saying Princess Mariya has been arrested?”

“For treason,” Jun choked out. 

“And Sho here might know something about it?”

Sho shook his head, rubbing at his throat with irritation in his eyes. “I don’t know anything about the planting of evidence. It’s not our doing.”

“ _Our_ doing?” Nino cried out.

Sho watched Jun carefully. “Your mother, like your father, was always kind to me. Even if Kazunari had asked me to target her, I would have dissuaded him.”

“For the love of…” He threw his hands in the air. “I’m not in the business of plotting against people’s mothers!”

Clearly exhausted, Jun sat down heavily on the floor. Nino did the absolute least, picking up a cushion and flinging it at him. Jun took the cold gesture in stride, hugging it against his chest.

“Princess Mariya’s household was always under the purview of Prince Yukio’s,” Sho explained calmly, fingers still lingering on his neck. “The Prince, may the Gods favor him, wanted total control over who served her.”

“He spied on her,” Jun grumbled. “From the day he married her until the day he had a heart attack and died on top of some teenage scullery maid. The asshole spied on her, and Sho saw it done.”

To Nino’s dismay, Sho didn’t deny it. “The Princess is from the West Kingdom, and Prince Yukio did not want there to be any outside influences. It was part of my job as Prince Yukio’s advisor…”

“Advisor, he calls himself,” Jun retorted.

“It was part of my job the last few years,” Sho continued, “to vet new candidates for service in her household. The women who dress her, the cooks who make her meals, the girl who empties her chamber pot. Prince Yukio wanted loyalty.”

“And now one of them turned on her. That witch got to someone. Now that my father isn’t here to make her life a living hell, Rumiko has stepped in. She’s wanted my mother dead for decades,” Jun said. “Now she’ll get her way.”

Sho exhaled. “It’s a bold move, even for her.”

“She has _him_ now, Sho,” Jun said, pointing at Nino like he was just another object in the room. “I thought she’d use him to come after me. Grandfather wouldn’t mourn if I was found face down in a pool of water or at the bottom of a stairwell with a broken neck, no matter how suspicious. Hell, she still might be ambitious enough to try it.” Jun shook his head. “But not my mother. I won’t allow her to hurt my mother.”

At last, Nino had gained some insight into his brother’s character. Jun might have revolted years ago, might have protested his mistreatment. The lack of respect from his father and grandfather alike. But he hadn’t done it. He’d played the fool. He’d kept his place at court. 

All along he’d been fighting to protect his mother. Nino understood that feeling all too well.

Sho finally sat down to Jun’s left, folding his hands and resting them on the table. “I am sorry, Jun. Truly I am.”

“I don’t want your useless apologies. I want your solutions.” Jun’s scowl was rather frightening, but Sho wasn’t afraid of it tonight. “You were the smart one. Father always liked to remind me.”

There was a lot of history between the two men seated at Nino’s table, and he didn’t have the desire to unpack any of it. Not now. Not when an innocent woman’s life was in danger. Nino hadn’t met Princess Mariya. Given the circumstances of Nino’s birth and how her son had been treated all these years, he doubted that the Princess would like him very much. But that didn’t really matter.

The darkest reaches of his mind saw this night as a turning point. As an opportunity. He suspected that Sho could see it too. Sho, who wasn’t as high-minded and admirable as Nino had been naive enough to believe all this time.

If they helped Jun, helped Princess Mariya, then perhaps Jun would help Nino in return. It was a cruel thought, but a realistic one. And given the politics that ruled the Royal Palace of Amaterasu, Jun likely knew already that Nino would want a favor in exchange for his assistance.

Sho cleared his throat. “Your mother is a foreigner,” he said. “And we’ve always had friendly enough trade relations with the West Kingdom. If they get word that she’s been harmed, the king risks retaliation. It’s a guarantee if the Sorceress finds a way to have her executed.”

Jun scoffed. “And you think the old man wouldn’t welcome a war? Half the royal treasury goes toward the upkeep of the Kingsguard.”

Nino hadn’t known that, and he let it sink in.

“The mourning period works in your mother’s favor,” Sho pointed out. “Even I’ve got another month yet to live.”

Quiet descended over the room at the reminder. Nino watched Jun search for a response, but he didn’t seem to have one. Neither did Nino for that matter.

“So,” Sho continued anyway, “even if Rumiko has had her arrested, the king will not put a princess in a dungeon. I know he’s never much liked her, but the court would protest. Your mother has made a lot of friends with her patronage and gifts over the years. The king would rather risk war with our neighbors than risk the court turning on him. Especially with Nino having the power that he does.”

Jun’s jaw dropped, and he hurried to recover. “I’m sorry, what did you call him?”

“He called me Nino,” he interjected. “As I’ve instructed him.”

Jun held up a hand. “Remind me to be annoyed with that later. So what do you propose?”

“It’s likely the king will put your mother under house arrest while an investigation is conducted,” Sho explained. “All of her servants will be removed from her apartments so they can be questioned. They may all be ousted from the palace, I have no idea. But that leaves a princess without a lady’s maid, and anyone at court will find it insulting, even if your mother’s being investigated for treason. Nino’s maid Mirei is trustworthy and discreet. It’s my suggestion that Mirei is sent to your mother to serve her for the time being.”

Jun raised an eyebrow. “That’s a calculated risk, Sho.”

To Nino’s surprise, Sho smiled back at Jun. They’d known each other a long time.

“A bit heavy-handed, no?” Sho teased. “But it will be made clear to the court and to the king and Rumiko that Nino is on your side. Or at least that he’s on your mother’s side.”

“Brotherly love,” Nino mused, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

“And how do we clear my mother’s name?” Jun asked. “I know a servant has been turned against her, but how do we know which one betrayed her?”

“We spy on them, see who has been coming and going from Rumiko’s chambers,” Sho said.

“Sure,” Jun complained, “and how do we manage that?”

Sho looked to Nino reluctantly.

“We work with some rather uncommon spies.”

—

Come morning, nearly everything Sho had described came to pass. He knew the ins and outs of the Amaterasu court like the back of his hand. Princess Mariya was allowed to remain in her apartments, but everyone who served her from her seamstress to the man who held a parasol over her when she walked in the gardens had been ousted.

They’d been removed from the palace entirely, sent to lonely cells in the Kingsguard’s barracks. One by one, the plan was to have each servant brought before the king for an interrogation. Nino presumed that Rumiko would find her way into those closed sessions in the royal audience chamber since she was the one who’d brought the charge of treason against the princess.

By the afternoon, Nino had already met with Masaki in his sitting room, Sho beside him providing the details that Nino didn’t have. They needed someone in that audience chamber, someone that could watch Rumiko, watch her body language as each servant was questioned. After so many years at court, Masaki was a keen study of human behavior. And he’d be hiding in plain sight. What did the son of the God of the Waters care what happened to Princess Mariya? What incentive did he have for acting against the royal interest?

Nino had spent half their meeting apologizing, almost groveling. He didn’t want it to seem like an order. He didn’t want Masaki to feel as though he had no choice but to help. To Nino’s surprise, Masaki wanted to do his part, no matter the risk involved.

For many years, Jun had asked for Masaki to be brought to his chambers to recover after being overworked by his father or grandfather. But it had always been at the insistence of his mother. Satoshi, too, had been invited, but he’d never wanted their pity. Masaki was fond of the older woman, had been largely disappointed in the way Yukio had treated her.

“The West Kingdom fears the gods,” Masaki had explained. “Because of it, she has always treated me with respect.”

Nino couldn’t help wondering if Princess Mariya’s prayers were what had kept Jun from manifesting the powers of his bloodline, kept him from being able to inflict cruelties on Masaki and Satoshi.

As night fell, they had two confirmed spies in their camp, a divine one, as well as Mirei in the Princess’ empty household. Nino hadn’t had much trouble convincing her to help either. Before she’d been ordered to serve as maid for the mysterious, illegitimate Kazunari from the desert, Mirei had longed to serve at the beck and call of the still beautiful Princess from the West Kingdom, who had gone years without having a servant beaten. A rarity in the royal palace, Nino was informed, his mood darkening.

That left their other potential spy, though Nino doubted this conversation would go as well for him as the others had.

He made his familiar climb to the roof, finding Satoshi in his usual spot. If he’d been here a while, listening in, then it was likely he already knew what Nino was coming to ask him. But knowing Satoshi, he’d never be the one to bring it up.

Nino sat down. “Good evening, Satoshi.”

There was no pause this time.

“Good evening, Your Highness.”

He smirked. “Your brother at least calls me by my name. I don’t know when I’ll break him from calling me by my full name every single time, but I suppose I’ll take what I can get.”

“You don’t like your title?”

Nino chuckled. “It’s not really been formalized anyway. I may be Yukio’s son, but the king has made no move to grant me any official role or title here at court.”

“Sakurai Sho addresses you informally.”

“Sakurai Sho is my friend.”

Satoshi let out a derisive scoff. “Sakurai Sho is your servant.”

Nino nodded in acknowledgment. “Both of those things are true.”

They sat in a companionable silence for a while. Nino couldn’t help watching Satoshi from the corner of his eye, that forlorn gaze of his, that frown as he stared up at the sky, toward the east and home. He’d been in the Sun Kingdom far longer than he’d ever been in the Undersea Palace, but there was likely no comparison. Home was home, whether you were a god who lived under the waves or a man who traveled the sands with a patchwork tent.

“I don’t want to waste your time, so let me get straight to the point,” Nino said quietly.

He explained the situation with the princess, how Jun had come to him for help. He told Satoshi that Masaki already planned to help.

“I just thought I would ask if you’ve heard or seen anything. I never know how long you stay up here, what you might notice that nobody else could…” He cleared his throat. “And if you wished to do more to help, then that would be a kindness. It’s not an order, it’s not a demand.”

“You’re only helping Prince Jun because you want him in your debt.”

He nodded. “I will admit that it factored into my decision, yes. I have no intention to lie to you about my motives. I owe you that.”

Satoshi let out another of his quiet chuckles. “You are the first in your bloodline to feel as though they owed me anything. It’s a strange sensation.”

“I cannot take on Rumiko and the king alone. Even if I somehow find a way to free you and Masaki, they won’t go quietly. Is it wrong to seek allies wherever I can find them?”

Satoshi shook his head. “You have the Matsumoto ambition.”

“More like the Terajima Kazuko pragmatism.” He laughed. “My mother.”

“I know,” Satoshi said.

He looked over, surprised. “You’ve been here for hundreds of years. You’ve seen servants and kings come and go constantly. You actually remember my mother?”

“You look like her,” Satoshi continued. “When you first came here, I thought you looked familiar. When I heard that you were Prince Yukio’s son, I just had to think back to the women he…” He shrugged. “I have no reason to be rude about it.”

Perhaps Satoshi had witnessed the affair or at least heard of it. The thought made Nino a little uneasy. Even though the god sitting beside him didn’t look much older than him, he had been here several lifetimes. Sometimes Nino forgot that most obvious of things about Satoshi.

“Well,” Nino continued awkwardly, “there’s no need to have an answer tonight. It is a risky thing I ask of you.”

“You know for a certainty that Sorceress Rumiko is responsible for what has happened?”

“She’s the one who brought the charges against the Princess, but we have no proof this was entirely her scheme. We’ll be watching her carefully, but no other faction at court really gains from the Princess being in trouble. Rumiko cares more about eliminating an enemy than about the fallout of her actions. But if we can’t find evidence that she’s framed the Princess…”

“I will tell you what I observe,” Satoshi said.

Nino was shocked by the quick response. “Wait. Really?”

Satoshi nodded. “I’m the reason she has that suppression bangle around her ankle. It’s imprinted on the inside with one word from my language. In translation it means ‘cease.’”

Nino said nothing, still surprised that Satoshi was willing to open up, to talk more about himself.

“I saw to it that four people were drowned because she considered them rivals. I have many hateful memories of this kingdom, but those surrounding her seem to trump them all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“They were tied up and dropped to the bottom of a well. Servants. Innocents. She’s always seen rivals where there were none. Many of them were likely dying already from the fall,” Satoshi admitted, voice far less steady than usual. “I didn’t realize what my role in it was until I saw the first of them float to the top.”

Nino reached over, resting a hand on Satoshi’s leg. The god’s body was so warm, full of life. “You don’t have to speak of it.”

“It was not the first time I’d been used that way. I suppose it’s just the freshest in my mind,” he said, shrugging. He had not yet objected to Nino’s hand on him.

“You told the king what she had you do?”

“One of her servants confessed first. The lover of one of the people I’d helped to murder.”

“Satoshi,” he whispered, “you didn’t knowingly…”

“When you order Masaki or me to do your will, we know it’s not done out of malice or spite on your part, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting. So don’t concern yourself with how I should feel about that incident.”

Nino took his hand back, chastened.

“And don’t say you’re sorry,” Satoshi continued, his voice steadier. “I’ve had so many apologies from you that I don’t think I can handle another.”

Nino looked down, grinning. “Am I at least allowed to thank you? Since you’ve so kindly agreed to help me despite my selfish motives?”

There was a bit more gentleness in Satoshi’s reply. “That…that I think I’ll allow.”

He laughed, covering his mouth to keep from waking anyone in the courtyards below. It was a true shame that Satoshi had been mistreated for so many years. It was clear that he was a kindhearted soul, a gentle soul. But also someone with a sense of humor.

“Then thank you very much.” He got to his feet. “It’s appreciated.”

Before he could walk away, he felt a gentle tug on his trouser leg. He looked down, seeing that Satoshi had reached out to grab hold of him.

“In exchange, I have a request for you. I wish to try the trick with the salt water.”

“The trick?”

Satoshi’s eyes were large, almost hopeful when he looked up at Nino. “Where you speak my language and somehow convince me that I’m home. It’s what you did for Masaki. I want to at least…try.”

He blushed, warmth running through his whole body, not just his tattooed arm. “Of course. Any time. After all, I’m just three floors down. You don’t need an appointment.”

“Thank you, Kazunari.”

He nodded. “Of course. Good night.”

Nino walked away half-dazed. He’d accomplished a great deal in the last few days, and tonight he’d somehow managed to turn the stubborn Satoshi to his side. The plan to exonerate Jun’s mother could move forward at full steam. 

And yet none of that, nothing at all could compare to the way his name had sounded falling so gently from the lips of a handsome god.

—

They weren’t naive enough to believe that spying only worked in a single direction. Nino’s choice to openly ally with Jun by sending Mirei to the Princess clearly had Rumiko annoyed. Concerned with his loyalty.

He tried to keep up appearances, inviting his aunt to his rooms for a meal or for a walk in the gardens so he might learn more ways to strengthen his powers or perhaps discover new ones entirely. As the secret sessions in the king’s audience chamber continued, she kept finding excuses to decline.

But her presence was felt firmly everywhere. 

There seemed to be more people in the palace library these days, some who would sit just outside watching him enter and watching him leave. It was likely that she had a spy among the staff as well, so he’d started rolling up and reshelving items himself, leaving only his deceptions out for them to find. He memorized useless facts from other scrolls, just in case someone pulled him aside to test him.

Without Mirei to keep them in check, he and Sho performed a few tests of their own on the other maids: Kanna and Natsuna and Kasumi. They couldn’t afford for any of them to be compromised. They left scraps of paper behind on the table in Nino’s sitting room or hinted at Nino’s schedule for the day in passing conversation. All three young women passed admirably. None of the scraps were moved, none of their (nonsense) contents divulged. And nobody suspicious confronted Nino, pretending to have encountered him by surprise. He’d been blessed with extraordinarily loyal people.

Princess Mariya, however, had not been so fortunate. Though Sho had hand-picked most of the Princess’ household, the death of Prince Yukio had left quite the vacuum. Coupled with Sho’s absence and Jun’s outward indifference, some among the staff had decided to make their allegiances flexible.

It took almost a week to make any progress, but the sons of the God of the Waters came through with results. Without Jun or Nino’s input, the two of them had banded together to determine the best plan of attack. Satoshi walked the palace grounds, all but invisible after so many years of purposefully isolating himself. He watched notes change hands between Princess Mariya’s imprisoned staff and a few members of the Kingsguard holding them, who then brought notes to Rumiko’s servants or boldly enough, to Rumiko herself. Satoshi then told his brother who to look out for during interrogations in the royal audience chamber.

Nino didn’t learn any of this until Masaki found him in the library again, providing him with a list of four names. Two had already been freed, cleared of suspicion during the interrogations with a little help from Rumiko. The other two had yet to be interviewed, but they had likely helped to plant evidence. Two maids, the kennel master who kept watch over the Princess’ small yapping dogs, and the teenaged orphan boy who often played shamisen during Princess Mariya’s frequent dinner parties.

“This is remarkable what you’ve found,” Nino said, hanging in the back of the room with Masaki, as far from the door (and the library staff) as he could manage.

Masaki seemed almost giddy. For once he’d been involved in a plot that sought to expose wrongdoing rather than perpetuate it. “You really ought to thank Satoshi. He did most of the work, telling me what he suspected. He was right in every case, my brother. These people will regret allying with that horrible woman.”

“Betraying their mistress won’t even be the worst charge,” Nino admitted. “If they admit to lying to the king during these interrogations, they will likely suffer.”

Masaki was quieter, letting out a soft sigh. “It would not be the first time I’ve seen such punishments carried out. Though I suspect they’ll wait until the mourning period is completed.” 

The god flicked at the black ribbon Nino still had tied around his upper arm to keep up appearances. It was a reminder every day of the deadline still hanging over him. Time was running out regarding Sho’s execution.

“Yes, I suspect they will wait.”

He thanked Masaki again, urging him to go straight to Jun with the news.The information provided by Satoshi and Masaki would be his to use as he saw fit. It was only right that the son be allowed to protect and restore the reputation of his mother.

After a mostly fruitless search of scrolls that afternoon, Nino headed back for his rooms. At this hour, he usually expected the maids to arrive with a dinner tray. But when he entered, he found Satoshi already at the table in his sitting room, helping himself to a platter of buckwheat noodles. He had a noodle between his fingers, tugging it from the rest of the pile and slowly eating it.

“Oh please, do go right ahead and eat my dinner for me.”

Satoshi hadn’t looked up when he’d entered, but he had a wry smile on his face now when he did. “You’ve phrased that as an order, Kazunari. You know I have no choice but to obey you.”

It seemed like someone was in a strange mood tonight. Then again, this was the first time Satoshi had come to his rooms. Before they’d been more out in the open, whether in the palace gardens or on the roof. Or, Nino thought darkly, in the storage room with Rumiko and the Kingsguard.

He rolled his eyes, abandoning his sandals by the door and heading for his bedchamber. He had scraps of paper to add to the collection in the secret compartment of his room. The way Satoshi said his name had sent a pleasing shiver down his spine, but he hoped it went unnoticed. When he returned, dressed in more comfortable, loose-fitting clothing as opposed to his royal finery, he discovered that the maids had had food brought in for two. 

Satoshi was using a pair of chopsticks to divide the noodles between two plates, a cup of dipping sauce split between them. Apparently the gods really could eat proper meals if they so chose.

“How long have you been sitting here waiting for me that Natsuna saw fit to bring you a portion?”

Satoshi settled some noodles in his cup, swishing them around. “Not so long.”

Nino sat, ceasing his needless arguments in favor of the meal. They sat quietly, punctuating silences with slurps of noodles and slow sips of the rice wine Nino often had paired with his dinners. It was an odd dinner indeed, sharing food with a god. He ate with Sho on many nights, keeping him away from the disappointing options the servants’ quarters likely offered. But this was very different.

Just like on the rooftop, Satoshi sat in a world of his own. He had nothing to say while he ate, just like he’d rarely had much to say while looking out to the eastern sky.

“I’ve missed you,” Nino admitted candidly. “I’ve missed your grumpy face.”

Satoshi had given more time to the spying mission than Nino had even anticipated. It had been a long week without their nighttime chats. But he shouldn’t have underestimated how far the god would go to uncover those who had pledged loyalty to the person he loathed the most.

He swallowed his food, finally offering Nino a nod. “I’ve missed your big mouth.”

Nino grinned.

After Natsuna cleared their empty trays, they sat at the table together. Nino poured, filling Satoshi’s small cup. “Do gods get drunk on human alcohol?”

“Gods whose bodies have been altered by their fathers do.”

He remembered what Masaki had told him, how he and his brother had been sent to Amaterasu in slightly different forms than they’d borne back home. “Hmm, interesting,” Nino said teasingly. “Do you have any other human weaknesses?”

“Masaki likes to gossip.”

“But of course you’re above such things.”

“Of course.”

They chatted and drank, though Nino as usual did most of the chatting. It was too easy to reminisce about the life he’d left behind, the caravan. He found himself telling Satoshi stories of Kazuko and Seitaro as well as some of the odd characters who’d followed the Water Finder from town to town.

Yusuke the carpenter born with extra fingers and toes, who used to scare a much younger Nino by wiggling those extra digits at the nightly campfire. Eiji, who’d given up a career as a scholar to tend the caravan’s camels. Saburo the well-digger with the giant mole on the tip of his fat nose. Aika the reformed prostitute who policed the caravan’s morality until Kazuko had finally asked her to part ways with them. 

Sitting here in the center of this horrible palace, this horrible capital, Nino missed them all so much. He even missed Aika, just a little bit. It never took Nino long to feel the effects of rice wine, and he tried to slow himself down. One more drink, and he’d start to slur his words.

“Kazunari.”

He looked over, saw that Satoshi’s face was likely as flushed from the rice wine as his own was. “Hmm?”

“Wanna do the salt water trick?”

He chuckled. “It’s not a trick. It’s a command. We’ve just had a lovely meal. I don’t want to spoil it by controlling you…”

Satoshi ignored his concerns, pulling a fresh cup from the tray Natsuna had left behind. Without another word, Satoshi filled the cup with water, the first time Nino had seen him do so without being forced. He appeared to just think the water into existence.

It seemed that Satoshi was dead set on giving this a try, no matter the physical cost he might endure. “Very well,” he said, slowly getting to his feet. He headed to pull the cord on the wall, summoning Natsuna or whichever of the young women was on call at this hour. As they’d eaten together, as Nino had talked unceasingly about the strange and colorful characters of the caravan, hours had passed. 

It was Kasumi who came to the door. Nino merely offered her a merry grin, saying only one word to her. “Salt.”

She returned in a few minutes with an entire bowl of it, and he laughed, dismissing her with a quick thank you. He turned back, showing off his acquisition. Satoshi merely slid the cup of water across the table, waiting for Nino to do his worst.

She’d brought him a spoon too, so he added a decent spoonful to Satoshi’s cup, mixing it as thoroughly as he could without having it all slosh out onto the table. “I’ve never been to the sea,” he admitted, “so I may not have the exact composition right.”

“I wish we could go there,” Satoshi mumbled. “Right now.”

He was warm, from both the alcohol and the idea that Satoshi wanted to spend time with him so willingly. From the start, Nino had all but forced himself into Satoshi’s life. The god had tolerated him for weeks, but now here they were, sitting together. Eating together. Drinking together. The activities of close friends, not of master and prisoner. 

“I wish we could go there, too,” he admitted. “Leave all this chaos behind. But since I have made little progress in that regard, let me at least try to send you there in spirit.”

He removed the spoon from the glass, letting Satoshi bring it to his lips. His dark eyes were nervous but trusting, awaiting Nino’s command. He could see Satoshi trembling just the slightest bit.

To help, he leaned over, sitting closer so he could rest a hand on Satoshi’s shoulder. He found him sturdy, solid beneath his touch. Relaxed as much as he could.

“Satoshi,” he said quietly. “Drink of _the far place_.”

He watched as Satoshi closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before taking a sip of water. There was no reaction at first, until he felt Satoshi’s shoulder start to shake under his fingertips.

“Drink of _the far place_ again.”

This time it wasn’t a sip. Satoshi gulped the water down, tilting his head back. When it was empty he shakily set the glass on the table. When he opened his eyes, they were wet with tears.

“Are you hurt?” Nino whispered.

“Yes. But not…” Satoshi winced, looking down. “Not like it normally does…”

Nino squeezed his shoulder, offering what comfort he could. He remembered Masaki’s reaction to the water all too well. “It made you think of home? Was it my words or more your own wishful thinking?”

Satoshi wiped at his eyes with the palm of his hand, sniffling, almost as though he was embarrassed to show such a vulnerable side. “Your words, my wish…I don’t know. Both? In all the time I’ve been here I’ve never…I don’t know…what you said was so simple and yet…”

“I want to do more to help you,” he admitted. “I’m so limited by the words that I’ve been taught.”

He tried to focus on breathing when Satoshi’s warm fingers moved to twine with his own, holding their hands together against his shoulder. “Then I should probably teach our language to you.”

Nino was confused. “But it’s forbidden. Masaki told me that was so.”

Satoshi met his gaze, dark hair falling across his brow. “You and Sakurai Sho sit here most nights and try to decipher what you’re reading. What you’ve snuck here from the library. I’ve been curious about it from the start. Even if I’m forbidden to speak my language, you are not. You’ve learned some words, you know some of the sounds. Well…” He pondered a moment, squeezing Nino’s fingers tightly. “Well…couldn’t you let me try and help? It may be slow going, but it’s better than you stumbling around a solution for forty years like your father.”

He nodded. “I’ll show you everything. Hold on.”

It almost ached to slip his hand away, his palm and fingers shaking as he moved to his bedchamber, hurrying to pull every scrap he had from his secret compartment. He returned, dumping what he had on the table. Satoshi had filled another glass with water.

“A bit less salt this time,” he ordered, taking the bits of paper and sorting through them. He was sobering up, issuing commands.

Nino grinned. “Yes, sir.”

They passed most of the night in this way. Satoshi examined the papers, spending most of his time concentrating on the characters Nino had copied from the scrolls that had not included a translation from Sorcerer Raku. It was agonizingly slow. Satoshi would tell him what the word meant in the common tongue, whether it was “tree” or “think” or “unwise” and Nino could only start with sounds. 

He knew the sounds of the characters on his arm, the sounds of the few dozen words Rumiko had taught him. He had no choice but to sound out the syllables he knew one at a time, let Satoshi indicate if he’d said the right one. One syllable confirmed, they’d have to move to the next. It took them about thirty minutes per “translation,” with Nino often having to go through every sound or word fragment he already knew, waiting for Satoshi to nod that it was correct. And of course there were sounds in the language of the gods that Nino had yet to learn. As their energy flagged, Nino would instead allow Satoshi to fill a glass, then he’d add salt and tell Satoshi to drink of the far place. Whatever the taste, whatever the feelings that coursed through him, it encouraged Satoshi, made him work harder even with tears streaming down his gentle face.

Nino wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he woke on the floor beside the table, one of his cushions under his hip. He opened his eyes, blinking in the morning light.

He was alone.

The scraps were gone, and a note left behind on the table informed him that his secrets were safe. “I put them away,” the paper simply read, and Satoshi had likely left when Nino had fallen asleep.

In the hours they’d worked on the handful of characters and words he had copied from the library scrolls, Nino had only learned five new ones. And yet they were five new words, five new words he might recognize in other scrolls, five new words that might push him in the direction he needed to go. Satoshi had teased him for his accent, for some of his pronunciations, and yet they had made a good team.

It was a far cry from the first time they’d met, when Satoshi had looked upon him with justifiable contempt. 

It wouldn’t take forty years, but it would still take time. It was best he got back to work as soon as he could.

Nino got up, stretching, hearing his joints crack. He had a bath to wake up both his body and mind, dressing for the day and eating a solid breakfast. He’d have to double, perhaps triple his efforts in the library. Instead of looking for the familiar in the scrolls, maybe he ought to especially look for the characters Raku had written without offering their translation. Perhaps within lay the words he could test, words he might try using to free the gods from their captivity.

He knew the wind blowing down mountains. He knew how to tell them to drink from the far place, to be reminded of the taste of the sea and their home. He needed darker words, angrier words. He needed words like blood and curse and trap.

Nino was halfway to the library when Takahashi found him in the halls, his face serious.

“The king wishes to speak with you, Your Highness.”

—

He was standing before the throne, King Kotaro watching him with merriment in his eyes.

“You seem rather surprised by this, my blood.”

Nino tried not to panic, merely shrugging. “I was under the impression that my brother was your heir. After all, I’m of illegitimate birth.”

“That’s all about to change,” the king said with his cruel smile. 

Without so much as a “good morning,” Kotaro had called Nino to his private audience chamber and told him plainly what he’d just decided. In two months, Kotaro would be celebrating his ninetieth birthday. 

However, the celebration would not so much be celebrating the king’s milestone birthday as it would be a passing of the torch. Matsumoto Kazunari would be officially recognized as Yukio’s eldest son and by implication, the true heir to the throne of the Sun Kingdom.

It was clear that Jun had not managed to meet with the king yet, to confront him with the evidence that Rumiko had framed Princess Mariya. If the princess was determined to be a traitor, it was quite possible her marriage to Yukio would be declared invalid, even all these years later. Nino had no doubts that the king and Rumiko would do what they could to further diminish Jun as an heir and make Nino’s claim seem all the more real.

But he knew that he couldn’t speak on Jun’s behalf. Knew that he couldn’t come forward with Rumiko’s treachery himself. The king was likely disappointed that Nino had sent Mirei to the princess, but if he learned that Nino and Jun had worked together, enlisting the gods in their mission, then who knew how the king might react?

“Prince Yukio, may the Gods favor him…”

“Enough of those empty sentiments! He was clearly favored by them, as he somehow managed to take time away from crying over the feckless peasantry to create you,” Kotaro interrupted. “You were a weakling when you arrived, Kazunari, and I’m not yet convinced that you have what it takes to keep this unruly, ungrateful kingdom afloat. But when I look at the options before me, what choice have I? A barren, scheming wretch of a daughter. A legitimate but useless grandson who has fucked his way through my court to beg for my attention. And I have you.”

He inclined his head. “You do have me, Your Majesty.”

“Have I not been generous to you, despite the circumstances of your birth? You were a Matsumoto no matter which slut’s womb you came from. By rights you were mine, you were my blood from the day she managed to trap my son’s seed inside her treacherous, conniving twat, but I left her alone. I left you alone. For the kingdom, I said. For the sake of my heir and the son of his officially sanctioned union.”

Nino could not, would not raise his head. Because if he did, the king would see how he truly felt. The king would see how his eyes burned with hatred as he insulted Kazuko, the greatest woman Nino would ever know.

“I’ve had you brought here. Allowed you to live in utmost comfort. I would see my investment pan out,” the king said. “You spend your days in relaxation, traipsing through my gardens or reading dry histories in my library. That comes to an end now.”

Nino held in a breath. Not now! Not now that he finally had some sense of forward momentum…

“You will leave those guest quarters behind, and I will house you in the palace near me. Yukio’s apartments have sat empty these months, and you will live there. You will have a proper household staff, not just a handful of girls to draw you a bath or suck your cock…”

He stared at the floor, panicking. Panicking, panicking.

“I may have failed with Yukio and with his wretched son, but I will not make the same mistake with you, Kazunari. You will attend all proper meetings of state. You will sit at my right hand in council meetings. You will become acquainted with the ministers that will serve you. And in exchange, you will succeed me.” He heard Kotaro lean forward in the chair. “The Sun Kingdom will be yours as surely as those beautiful markings on your arm make the gods yours.”

He did everything he could to school his expression, even as things were quickly falling apart around him. He’d have no time for the library, for his training with Satoshi. He’d have no time to coordinate with Jun, to convince him to help free the gods. There’d be new servants, more servants. And he doubted they’d be trustworthy. No, they’d report back to the king, Nino was certain of it.

“You honor me, Your Majesty.”

“Unlike your brother, at least you have the strength of character to realize it.”

“I am eager to prosper under your guidance,” he lied, hoping the king couldn’t hear the desperation that was taking him over inside. “But perhaps you might grant me a small favor.”

The king sounded annoyed. “I do all of this for your sake, and yet you require more, boy?”

He dared to narrow his eyes at his grandfather.

“My gratitude does not cancel out the fact that you need me to ensure this kingdom survives when you are gone. Jun has no power over the gods, and this magnificent place will become as dry and dead as the rest of the country.” Nino took a bold step forward, hands in fists. “You need me, Your Majesty, or Raku’s bloodline dies with you.”

Unlike most people, Kotaro seemed almost impressed by Nino’s threats. Of course, Nino knew the man was obsessed with his bloodline. 

“Your small favor?”

He stepped back from his aggressive position, bringing his hands to his hips. “I will move to the rooms you set for me. I will attend meetings of state. I will learn more about the burden that will be mine when you are no longer here to guide me.” He took a quick breath, steeling himself. “All I ask is that Sakurai Sho remains my servant.”

The king let out a throaty laugh. “The traitor! You again beg clemency for it!”

“I do, Your Majesty. He has remained loyal and true these past months. It would be a waste to have him die.”

“I have let it draw breath for far longer than I should have. I would see the traitor disemboweled in my courtyard and take pleasure in the sight of it.”

Nino didn’t doubt that. The man was soulless, corrupt. He wasn’t sure how much was from the poison of the curse in his blood and how much was just inherent cruelty.

“Then we are at an impasse, Your Majesty,” he said coldly. “Where you see treason in him, I see valued counsel. Where you see an ‘it,’ I see a man who has devoted his life to serving this kingdom. I pray that my brother Jun has a child with the gifts of our bloodline, for it seems I will not be succeeding you, Grandfather.”

He turned his back on the king, and he heard the pathetic, sputtered cry.

“You have not been dismissed, Kazunari!”

He stopped, but did not look back. “I will have a horse prepared and my few personal items packed within the hour. You may send all the Kingsguard after me that you like, but I will not be taken back here alive. When they kill me, I hope they cut off my arm and send it back to you so you might look upon the tattoos I was given and be reminded until the day you die of how you wasted their potential.”

He was almost to the door when the king called his name again. Nino grinned before turning back. It had worked. To his surprise, Kotaro had gotten to his feet, though he was holding onto the arm of his chair desperately.

“I hope it betrays you, Kazunari,” the king declared. “You will look back, and you will regret this day when the traitor shifts allegiances. You may believe its counsel, but it has been seen in the shadows visiting your worthless brother’s chambers.”

Nino tried not to laugh at the insinuation. But he at least had confirmation that the king would more closely examine any movement between Nino’s rooms and Jun’s. They’d have to be more careful.

“You will be moved tomorrow. Takahashi will provide you with a schedule. I will see you molded into a king.”

“And Sakurai Sho?”

The king’s grip on his chair tightened.

“Keep it.”


	8. Chapter 8

He thought Jun might have been more upset with how easily he’d been stripped of his inheritance. Instead his brother simply laughed when they met secretly that night in the palace gardens, a hedge separating them in the darkness. Nino sat cross-legged on a bench, pretending to be stargazing, knowing that Kanna, Kasumi, and Natsuna were busy packing up his chambers for the move to the opposite end of the residential wing come morning.

Sho had worked with stunning efficiency as soon as Nino had brought him the news, clearing the secret compartment of its contents and hiding them in his own room in the servants’ quarters. 

“You managed to save him where I could not,” Jun admitted.

“Three months ago, I lacked the clout to save him. But things have changed. Our dear grandfather now knows that the kingdom falls without my power.” He chuckled quietly. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Jun replied. “Sho will serve you well when you are king.”

Nino rolled his eyes. It was the last thing he wanted to be. He’d play along for now, attending meetings and becoming acquainted with the affairs of state, such as they were. But none of it really mattered so long as Kotaro clung to life. There were more important things at stake.

“What about your mother?”

“I have not been granted an audience for another three days,” Jun admitted. “That is when my mother is supposed to be summoned before him. Even with what Masaki and Satoshi found, I cannot be certain she will be cleared. But I will fight for her with everything I have.”

“Do you wish for me to intervene? I seem to have a knack for getting my way now…”

“No, it will only complicate things. This is our fight, my mother’s and mine, against that witch. She’s wanted us gone for years. She will not succeed.” Jun took a breath. “But thank you. Truly. You did a lot to help.”

“Masaki would have helped you anyway. You know that.”

“It was Satoshi’s intelligence that mattered most,” Jun said. “I know it makes you uncomfortable to give them orders but…”

“I didn’t order him,” Nino interrupted. “I just asked him.”

Jun was quiet for a while.

“I know that our father wished for them to be free,” Jun finally admitted, his steady voice slipping through the branches and into Nino’s ears. “And I know that is why he sent Sho to find you.”

Nino said nothing, shutting his eyes. Jun had always known.

“I loathed him. I loathed him because he loathed me,” Jun muttered. “But still I believed in his cause, even if he never knew. I prepared for a time when he might be desperate enough to finally seek my help. The power that keeps Masaki and Satoshi here is tied to those symbols, to their words. My mother’s people revere the gods, so I gathered what I could of their language from people my mother trusted. Nothing but scrolls and scraps of ancient paper, paid for with gold and jewels, with my inheritance. I thought that maybe if our father exhausted everything in the Sun Kingdom library that he might finally come to me. That I could help him with what I’d found.”

He heard Jun let out an irritated sigh. Yukio had been a fool to ignore Jun all those years. An out and out fool.

“Instead he sent Sho away, knowing and not caring that it would get him killed. After all Sho had done for him, our father was willing to sacrifice him so easily. He sent Sho off and had you brought here. And then he died before I could tell him that I wanted to help.”

“Jun…”

“When you arrived here, you arrived with the witch. I didn’t know you. I didn’t know if she’d corrupted you or not. I kept clear and kept watch. The witch had you marked, and I watched you hurt Masaki with such ease.”

“I didn’t…”

“Let me finish, Kazunari. I saw all of that happening around you, but then you sent Sho to me. You wished to arrange a meeting. Not even an hour before, my mother had received a letter from an acquaintance in the north. A trader had appeared in town, his cart overflowing with old things. Books, priceless things. I was already preparing to go and see if anything might have the language of the gods. I couldn’t trust you or him with where I was going. I let Sho believe I was unchanged, indifferent. Off for a meaningless holiday.”

“That was what he told me. You couldn’t meet for a week because you were getting away from the heat. I thought you were running away from me.”

“I bought everything the trader had that had at least one character from their language. The trader had no idea of its worth. He had no idea what he even had, just that it was old. I was going to ask Masaki to help me, especially if you grew stronger and couldn’t be trusted. Masaki said I was wrong about you. And after what you’ve done for my mother, I know that he was right.” Jun’s voice grew stronger. “It is all yours, everything I’ve gathered for more than 10 years. I want you to have it. I want it to help you free them.”

“I will be under constant watch now,” Nino said. “The king will have minions watching my every move. I will not be able to meet with you like this again. They will know everything and everyone that comes in or out of my rooms. Even if you smuggle things to me, the king’s spies will uncover my hiding places. And Sho will be watched just as closely. I cannot afford to put him at risk, using him to go between us again.”

“I know. But given how my mother has been targeted, I know it’s only a matter of time before someone finds my cache of divine treasures. It must all go to you now or we will never manage to free them,” Jun said. “Which is why I’ve taken Masaki’s advice, and I’ve already spoken with Satoshi.”

“What?” he hissed, turning around on the bench even though it was too dark to look through the hedge and see his brother’s face.

“You are right that we cannot put Sho in danger after all he’s already endured. And it will be suspicious if Masaki is seen visiting you with regularity. So that leaves only one person to help.”

“He agreed to this?”

Jun chuckled. “He’s a man of few words…or should I say a god of few words…well, either way, he said only that he knew what to do. If I had to wager on it, I’d say that he likes you. And he never likes anyone.”

Nino rolled his eyes, trying not to read anything into Jun’s phrasing. “I don’t see how he will accomplish any of this without being seen.”

He could tell Jun was smiling. 

“He longs to be free, brother, and he must believe that you will help him achieve that. So have a little faith in him in return.”

—

Everyone at the palace knew that Nino’s position had risen. His first three days in his new, too large set of apartments had been chaotic. When he wasn’t in meetings with the king, other staffers and advisors had come to pay their respects, to try and find a place in his household. Even though Nino wouldn’t be named heir for two months, it was clear to most courtiers that the title would soon be his. 

Instead of the three rooms that had made up his guest quarters, he now had double that. The apartments had been Yukio’s before him, and they were fit for a future king. They also came with enough servants for a king. Seven maids. A personal chef. A secretary to go through any letters or petitions that arrived and to complete his correspondence. And a “gentleman of the chamber,” some sycophantic minor aristocrat who would help him dress for court or for advisory meetings. Though he couldn’t bring him to royal meetings (as the king loathed the sight of him), Nino kept Sho with him at almost all other times, simply to have someone he trusted at arm’s reach.

His first room was a room meant only for receiving guests, filled with plush sofas and chairs. The next was a dining room with seating for up to ten guests. The next room was a personal study with a desk and bookshelves as well as a table and chairs to meet with advisors and staff. The fourth room was a more private sitting room, open to the courtyard outside and with the same thin curtains as his previous sitting room. But instead of a simple pool, there was a statue in the center. 

A voluptuous nude woman holding her hands to the sky. From her hands water spouted, shooting up into the air and falling into the pool around her. Water also trickled a bit more gently from her nipples and from between her thighs. The statue had been commissioned by one of the earlier kings in the bloodline, and Yukio had ordered it removed from the palace gardens and installed here in his own chambers.

“Tacky,” Sho had commented. “Your father had the most alarming tastes.”

Ugly statue aside, his new bedchamber and private bath were comfortable. He was glad for it after enduring all the meetings and calls paid to him by people he didn’t care to know. It was well past midnight after his third day of pretending to be an eager heir when he finally asked Sho to return to his own rooms.

“Jun’s mother is on trial tomorrow,” Nino said, stifling a yawn.

Sho nodded gravely.

“I know Masaki will be there. Will you go to him after, find out what happens?”

He bowed his head. “Of course.”

Nino reached out a hand, grazing Sho’s jaw to force him to look up. He could see true fear in Sho’s dark eyes. Sho, who had until just recently had a death sentence hanging over him. “We have to believe that she will be found innocent.”

“I sent those people to serve her,” Sho whispered. “I recommended them to Prince Yukio.”

“She will go free. Rumiko will not win this.”

“I want to believe that. For the princess’ sake.” _And for Jun’s sake_ , Sho didn’t have to say out loud.

“Get some rest, Sho.”

Finally he was left alone.

He changed into more comfortable clothes, a loose-fitting tunic and trousers, after a long day of dressing as his position required. In two months, he’d officially be named heir to the throne. He was not looking forward to it.

He left his bedchamber behind, heading for his private sitting room. He pulled the curtains aside, listening to the splatter of water in the pool just outside. He looked up as he’d looked up the last few nights in his new rooms, praying to see a pair of bare feet.

He was once again disappointed.

Perhaps Satoshi hadn’t yet found a way to reach him.

He headed back inside, moving to close the curtains again when he heard his name coming from high above him.

He looked up, but saw nothing.

Until there was a sudden blur of movement, a figure flying out from the rooftop and into the open air over the courtyard. 

He’d _jumped_. Satoshi had just jumped off the roof.

Nino almost cried out in alarm, covering his mouth to keep in a shout, as he saw the god come hurtling down toward the pool. But at the last moment, the water that was spurting out of the ugly statue merged into one powerful stream, surging upward out of the statue’s left hand.

It was there that Satoshi landed, his bare feet floating mere inches above the spout of water. He looked down at Nino, offering him a friendly wave.

Nino, still trying to catch his breath, scowled in reply. “Show off,” he managed to whisper.

Satoshi chuckled, the water spout lowering at Satoshi’s unspoken command until he was floating in the air just over the statue’s hand. A new water spout floated up from the pool beneath it and Satoshi stepped over onto it, letting it lower him down. He walked across the water for his final few steps, stepping onto the edge of the pool and hopping down to stand before Nino.

“Your Highness.”

“I almost had a stroke watching you fall,” he snapped, not raising his voice too loud. “I might still have one.”

“It has been dull these last few days without you,” Satoshi joked, moving to follow Nino into his sitting room.

Nino halted him with a palm raised. “Don’t even think about coming inside. Just a moment.”

He retrieved a towel from his washroom, returning and kneeling down before the god. He smacked at Satoshi’s damp foot. “Lift.”

Satoshi obeyed, moving his feet to let Nino put the towel beneath him.

He rose to his feet, watching Satoshi bend down to dry himself. “I have more maids now than I know what to do with. You think they won’t be confused to find footprints coming from that pool?”

“It would have been dry by the morning.”

“I’m not taking any chances,” Nino said. “Nice little magic show there. Satoshi, he who walks on water.”

“Masaki could do that too,” Satoshi admitted, finally stepping into the sitting room, dried again. “He just prefers to use doors like you humans. He’s not much of a daredevil these days.”

Nino had to admit it was clever though. Jun had told him that Satoshi would find a way to get to him without anyone else seeing him. His grandfather’s spies were watching the door, had probably just seen and noted that Sho had left for the night. He doubted any of them had been watching the rooftop.

“Is this how you’ll be visiting me now? Leaping from my roof and into my pool?”

“Admit it, Kazunari. I impressed you.”

“Never mind that. What brings you here?”

Satoshi had a seat on the floor at Nino’s table, digging inside the waistband of his trousers for a bundle of cloth tied tight with ribbon. He set it down on the table, sliding it over as Nino sat across from him.

“Courtesy of Prince Jun. There will be more.”

“I have nowhere to store this. I am inundated with spies now,” Nino pointed out, untying the ribbon and unrolling the cloth to reveal nearly a dozen identically-sized scraps of paper, likely pages torn from a book. They were in far poorer shape than what had been in the palace library, but there was no mistaking the characters on them. The language of the gods, untranslated.

“I understand that,” Satoshi said. “I’ll bring whatever we need and take it back with me. I have my own hiding places.”

Nino looked up, smirking at him. Satoshi offered a smirk in return.

He shook his head, laughing. So their language lessons would continue, no matter the risk. “It’s after midnight, and they’ll wake me just after sunrise.”

“That problem is yours, not mine.”

They got to work, tackling the new sets of words Jun had spent years collecting in hopes of helping a father who’d all but abandoned him. It became clear soon enough that the words had been written by a human with little knowledge of the gods. Satoshi was annoyed, finding many of the characters to be written incorrectly, finding many of the sentences to mean little. But it was the words that mattered, and they pushed on.

Over the next few hours, even as his eyes itched, desperate for sleep, they worked. Finally Satoshi gave up, bundling up the papers again.

Nino was half asleep, yawning as Satoshi tied the ribbon. “You and Masaki know exactly what the words are, don’t you?” he mumbled. “You know what Raku said to trap you.”

“Not all of them,” Satoshi admitted. “He’d already marked himself with the storm. The tattoos you bear. He’d already done that to himself when we arrived. We’ve believed for many years that he simply taught himself how to order us not to leave, to obey all those from his bloodline forevermore.”

Nino thought for a moment. “But to break it, do I really need his original words? Don’t I simply have to say that I remove Raku’s curse on you?”

Satoshi rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “We are not the only gods, those of us from the Great Sea. There are gods of the air and sky, gods of the soil and gods of the sun and moon. And gods are not always benevolent. We don’t exactly like being double-crossed.” He looked at Nino sadly. “So I should probably tell you that there are more than two hundred variations of the word ‘curse’ or ‘punishment’ in our language. Raku only had to pick one.”

“More than two hundred,” he sighed.

Satoshi got to his feet slowly, returning the bundle to his waistband. “It’s why I’ve had you learn other words. You should know almost every sound by now. Once you do, we can then combine them to try and make the sounds of the different words for curse. And if it’s none of those, then we can try the words for punishment. For trap. For…”

Nino held up a hand. “What do you mean combine?”

Satoshi grinned. “If I tell you to give me the first two syllables from ‘river’ that you learned tonight and the third syllable for ‘beetle,’ then what do you have?”

He searched his brain for the syllables, for the exact sounds. He spoke them aloud. 

Satoshi nodded. “Correct.”

“What’s correct? Was it one of your variations on curse?”

The god smiled. “You have just told me the word for ‘handsome,’ so thank you very much for the compliment.”

Nino backed away from the table in a huff, getting to his feet. “Teach me the words I need to know, Satoshi. If I have to learn two hundred words for curse, then teach me two hundred words for curse. We can’t afford to waste time.”

“I know that,” Satoshi grumbled. “Just like I’ll have to find a way to teach you fifty ways to say ‘break’ and ten ways to say ‘remove’ and I don’t even remember how many ways to say ‘free.’ I don’t know what Raku said, and so we will have to try every single variation! You think I don’t fully grasp the challenge we’re facing here?”

He came around the table, moving into Satoshi’s space. “Then I want you here, as much as you possibly can be. I’m going to complain. I’m going to be tired. And I’m going to be frustrated. But together, you and I are going to break this. You will be able to return to the far place. You will be able to go home.”

Satoshi took a step forward of his own, until he was close enough to touch. “Then I will be here, Kazunari. As much as I possibly can be.”

Nino looked down, unable to meet Satoshi’s determined eyes. “You and your brother will be free. You will never have to think of this place again.”

“Why would I want that? To never think of this place again?”

Nino scoffed, shaking his head sadly. “You’ve suffered here for hundreds of years.”

“But you are part of this place, too.”

“You’ve been trapped here against your will all this time, suffering for generations. Suffering for a length of time I can’t even comprehend. And I’ve only been here three months. I’m simply here to correct a long and terrible mistake.”

“In three months you’ve shown more kindness than I’ve received in eight hundred years, Kazunari. So I ask again: why would I want to forget this place? Why would I want to forget _you_?”

His left arm burned, warmth traveling up from the tattoos to his shoulders and radiating back down his spine. Satoshi’s fingertips traced along his chin, his hand moving to cup his cheek. Nino, exhausted, was unashamed of the tears forming in his eyes. He let them fall, breath unsteady as Satoshi stroked the droplets away with his thumb.

“You asked me, a short while ago, if I had any other human weaknesses,” Satoshi whispered.

“Just your lungs,” Nino mumbled, moving more firmly against Satoshi’s touch, overwhelmed, barely able to find words. “Just your lungs. And alcohol.”

“No,” Satoshi admitted, his other arm wrapping around him. “I have one more.”

Satoshi leaned forward, the clean scent of him surrounding him, flooding his senses. But Nino couldn’t bear the weight of it all.

“Stop,” Nino whispered.

His order was obeyed.

He felt Satoshi’s breath against his face, against his lips. “Why?”

“Because it isn’t equal between us.” He was unable to keep his tears in check, feeling them slide down his face as Satoshi held him close. “Because I have power over you.”

“You do have power over me,” Satoshi muttered. “But it doesn’t come from your tattoos.”

He finally looked up. Back in Toyone-mura, he’d dreamed of leaving the caravan. Leaving his simple itinerant life and finding somewhere to settle down. He’d even been selfish enough to dream of finding love.

And now here it was, standing before him.

He surrendered, closing his eyes. Surrendering to the love of a god.

Satoshi’s kiss was soft, sweet. Freely given. He moved his head gently, leaning into it, showing Satoshi he wanted this just as much. That perhaps he’d wanted this from the day they’d met. From the day Satoshi had cried and Nino had fallen.

He let Satoshi pull him closer, their bodies flush against one another. He gave in, he gave over all his control, letting Satoshi coax his lips apart with his tongue. He lifted his hands, needing to touch, sliding his fingers through Satoshi’s unruly hair. It was too perfect, it was too good.

It was Satoshi who stopped first, the kiss starting and ending entirely on his terms. He pressed his forehead against Nino’s, breathing desperately, as Nino continued to stroke his hair. “You said they will wake you just after sunrise.”

“They will.”

“Then I will return to you tomorrow, as soon as I am able. As soon as they leave you alone.”

He moved back, wiping his eyes, enjoying the gentle flush he saw in Satoshi’s face. Nino couldn’t help wondering when he’d last kissed anyone…or at least when he’d last kissed anyone of his own free will.

“We still have to have language lessons,” Nino pointed out. “We cannot be too selfish.”

“Not _too_ selfish,” Satoshi replied. “But maybe a little selfish.”

He grinned. “I look forward to that then.”

Satoshi smiled in return. “Good night.”

The god parted the curtains, and Nino followed him into the courtyard. He watched with a full heart as Satoshi stepped up onto the edge of the pool, the water rising up to greet him. He stepped over it, letting it surround him, lift him into the air. Nino could see all of the water coming together for his purpose, draining from the edges of the pool to form the quietly churning column of water that lifted him higher and higher.

He rose through the air, all the way to the roof, riding atop the water he commanded with such ease. The column moved, sliding from the center of the pool and allowing him to walk across it like a bridge until he could hop back onto the rooftop. And as soon as he stepped off, the water column noiselessly slid back down, Nino’s pool returning to normal.

Nino collapsed onto his bed, still in disbelief. But his lips were warm, he realized as he brushed his fingers against them. His lips were so beautifully warm.

—

He struggled to keep awake and alert as he was given a tour of the agricultural bureau. It wasn’t much more than a handful of rooms and a handful of people. There was little in the Sun Kingdom that might fall under the purview of the agricultural bureau anyway. There was farmland in the north where plants could better take hold, but he was told that there were methods for working in the desert that were as yet untested. A very dull man who seemed to be more interested in seeds than people was explaining to him what the bureau might accomplish with more funding. With the meetings Nino had taken the last few days, it seemed like many things might be accomplished across the kingdom if more funding was delivered. How many technological advances had been stalled the last several hundred years with the Matsumoto royal family content to languish behind their walls, content with keeping things as they already were?

Nino doubted that the king would ever shift funds away from the Kingsguard, so the technological stagnation would continue.

“Now,” the poor dull fellow was saying as he showed Nino a model aqueduct, “a partnership with the Empire of Salt was up for consideration during last year’s budgetary talks. We had Prince Jun’s ear on the matter for a while, but unfortunately he was unable to convince the king that…”

The door to the bureau slammed open, startling the people within. Nino’s eyes widened at the sight of Rumiko, hair wild and eyes wilder. She rushed in like an oncoming storm, pushing chairs and even people out of her way. Charging right behind her were half a dozen members of the Kingsguard, their swords drawn.

“Kazunari, my blood!” she shouted at him, making her way across the room. Her hands were shaking as she came up to him, grabbing hold of him, fingernails digging in. “Kazunari, my blood, won’t you speak for me?”

“You will unhand him,” the leader of the Kingsguard ordered. “You will come this way, Madame.”

She let him go, but only so that she could stand behind him, cowering in fright.

“Dear aunt,” he said uneasily, “what’s all the fuss about?”

While Nino had been receiving his lecture about seeds and plows, Princess Mariya was supposed to be standing before the King, her fate about to be decided. Rumiko ought to have been there. Jun ought to have been there. Masaki too. Something wasn’t right.

“You will defend me,” she told him, breath hot against his neck. “You will speak to Father for me.”

The Kingsguard took another step, the remainder of the agricultural bureau staff fleeing the chamber in fright. “Your Highness, I apologize for this. The king has just been informed of her treachery, and he has called for her to be banished again.”

“I will not go back there,” Rumiko was babbling behind him. “I will not go back to that place.”

“Treachery?” Nino asked, even though he knew very well what had likely happened. Jun had presented his arguments, calling out the names of his mother’s servants, the ones that Rumiko had turned against her. The king had not liked what he’d heard.

“She had servants lie to the king in order to cast doubts on the loyalty of Princess Mariya,” the soldier explained.

“That weakling makes false accusations! He would see me cast aside! But I will not go!” Rumiko howled, clinging to him.

Nino held up a hand, asking the Kingsguard to stay back. He turned to her, trying to keep calm even though he could see that the bangle from her ankle was gone. She was cornered now, and she might strike. She could likely summon Masaki or Satoshi from anywhere in the palace and have them clear a path for her. How many might be hurt in the process? Nino had to keep that from happening.

“Dear aunt,” he said gently. “My blood.”

Her crazed eyes were swimming as she looked at him. “My blood. _You_ will not turn on me.”

“Why don’t I speak to Grandfather? Learn exactly what’s happened here.”

“You will defend me.” She smiled, her teeth so yellowed and brittle. “Kazunari, my blood, he will defend me. I’ve taught you. I’ve taught you. I brought you here. I knew you were strong.”

Nino took her by the arm, whispering gently for her to stay calm. The Kingsguard parted as they passed, and dozens lined the corridor. It seemed as though the king had sent everyone under his command to fetch her. He knew very well indeed how dangerous she might be without the bangle around her ankle. She’d likely forced a servant to remove it under pain of death before attending the princess’ trial. Perhaps she’d wanted to be ready in case her schemes had backfired.

But perhaps she hadn’t expected the king to have her banished from court once again.

Nino kept speaking to her quietly, the Kingsguard warily trailing them just a few steps behind as they made their way back to the audience chamber. There were at least fifty foot soldiers between them and the king, who was seated on his throne with a dark expression. Jun and his mother were nowhere to be seen, but Nino supposed that was a good thing. 

Masaki stood behind the throne with his usual expression of calm, but Nino wasn’t happy to see him there. Any moment she might try and command him. Nino wasn’t sure what would happen if Masaki was given conflicting orders one right after another. All he knew was that he had to obey the members of the Matsumoto family.

Rumiko clung to him still, so he hung back with her, feeling her nails in his flesh. If he looked down, he’d likely see that she’d drawn blood in her desperation.

“Grandfather, what is the meaning of this?” he asked. “My dear aunt tells me you seek to banish her from Amaterasu.”

The old man didn’t bother to rise from his throne. “Have you asked her?”

“That boy lied!” Rumiko shouted, tightening her grip. “He sees how you favor Kazunari now, so he is lashing out.”

The king seemed more annoyed than angry. This was not the first time this kind of exchange between them had happened, that much was obvious. “Daughter, the servants have confessed.”

“You take the side of a half-blood and his weakling of a mother!”

“Kazunari, step away. I will not see you drawn into her web. She is mad.”

She looked at him, unwilling to let him go. “You and I are alike!” she begged him. “We are the loyal ones, we are the ones who work hard. We have studied and we have bled for this family! And yet we are illegitimate. We are the ones made to suffer!”

She honestly believed that Nino might still be on her side. He didn’t pity her, knowing the horrible things she’d done. But he thought he could at least understand her pain.

“Kazunari, I will not say it again,” the king demanded, and Nino pulled away. Kotaro waved to the captain of the guard. “I want her gone this time! I want her out of my sight.”

“Masaki!” Rumiko screamed. “Masaki, I have as much power over you as my father does!”

“Masaki!” Nino interrupted, feeling the god’s cold eyes turn to him. He pointed to his mouth, using some of the simplest words he’d learned. “ _Cover. No hurt. No hurt. Cover. Cover_!”

And before Rumiko could give a contrary order, could tell Masaki to drown the Kingsguard or wreak other havoc, a bubble of water appeared in front of her mouth, her words lost in a sputter. But she could still breathe through her nose. Masaki was not causing harm to a person of Sorcerer Raku’s bloodline. Just…an inconvenience.

Nino watched his aunt turn to him, the water covering her mouth and only her mouth, almost like she’d been gagged. The expression on her face changed as she realized that talking was now impossible. Her face turned hideous with his betrayal, and she forgot where she was, suddenly leaning down to pull a concealed knife from her boot, leaping toward him in a rage.

“Rumiko!” the king hollered as she raised it high, and she paused, letting it hang there in her hand, only steps away from Nino, who held his hands up defensively. “One more step and I’ll have your head, you ungrateful child!”

Rumiko’s eyes burned with hatred for him. She seemed like she might be happy for a beheading if it meant that he’d go down with her.

Nino took a slow, steady breath, watching her carefully. The woman who’d come to the desert, the woman with the rotting arm. His aunt, the murderer. 

Rumiko dropped the knife, bursting the bubble covering her mouth with a disturbingly loud scream. The Kingsguard surrounded her, a few grabbing hold of Nino and pulling him out of harm’s way. He watched as they hauled her up, one brave soldier nearly getting his finger bitten off as he tried to cover her mouth. It took ten of them to remove her from the throne room, kicking and screaming, and Nino finally looked back at the throne, seeing the fury gradually fading from his grandfather’s face. 

Masaki was just as placid as ever, though Nino couldn’t help noticing the way his hand gripped the King’s chair, his knuckles white from whatever it had taken him to strike at Rumiko with such precision but not hurt her. He looked at Nino but could say nothing.

“She will not trouble us any longer,” the king said, as though he was speaking of a pesky panhandler and not his own mad daughter.

Nino approached the throne, asking for the full story. Princess Mariya had been cleared of all charges brought against her. Prince Jun had been ordered to take his mother to a royal estate in the east so she might “recover” from the inconvenience she’d undergone. Nino knew better. It was exile. A comfortable exile for the princess, but exile just the same. 

The pieces were moving, faster than Nino had even imagined. Mariya, the widow of the deceased heir to the throne, was gone. And after pushing her luck too far, Rumiko too was gone. With Jun’s devotion to his mother, it was likely he’d be staying east with her, at least for the time being. And knowing Jun like he did now, Nino imagined that he’d be staying for a while to ensure that the people who served his mother had her best interests in mind.

In one afternoon, Nino’s path to the throne had been cleared of several obstacles. But without the distraction that was his wicked daughter or his powerless grandson, Kotaro would scrutinize him more than ever. 

The walls were closing in.

—

He returned to his rooms long after dark, finding a scrap of paper on the desk in his study. There were three characters on it, a word in the language of the gods, though it hadn’t been written very clearly. He summoned Sho, getting an answer.

Sho seemed a little embarrassed. “Masaki…dictated, you might say. He stopped by late this afternoon after all the commotion. Nobody else was here. I think the whole palace gathered to watch the Sorceress be hauled away in that carriage. Anyhow, he told me how to move the pen, but he didn’t explain what he was having me write. Do you know what it says?”

“Yes,” he said. “It means ‘hand.’”

“Hand?” Sho mumbled. 

Nino tore the paper to pieces, just to be on the safe side. He dumped the pieces in Sho’s hands for him to dispose. He moved out of his study and into the sitting room, pulling the swaying curtains aside. “He was with you the whole time?”

“It was no more than five minutes. We stood together in your main reception room, and he told me to leave this on your desk. I never let him out of my sight.”

“Then he had help,” Nino said with a grin, moving out into the darkened courtyard. In the lantern light and starlight, he could see the familiar vial resting in the hand of the naked statue in the pool. It was, of course, just out of his reach.

Sho stood behind him, sighing. “You’d just run out, I was about to find and ask him myself but I guess I didn’t have to ask.”

Nino could see the vibrant strands of blue. More kerida blossom to grind up and add to everything he ate and drank to continue keeping the poison at bay. Masaki had provided it, but Satoshi had dropped it off.

“Thank you, Sho,” Nino replied, looking at the vial and smiling. “That will be all for tonight.”

“The king has doubled the number of guards posted at your door.” Sho rested a hand on his shoulder. “In case you have any visitors.”

He turned, seeing the way his friend’s eyebrow was raised in curiosity. “What?”

“You were nearly murdered in the royal audience chamber today,” Sho reminded him. “But you seem rather…relaxed.”

He teasingly pushed Sho’s hand away. “Never you mind.”

Sho’s expression grew more serious. “Nino. Is there something I should know?”

“Perhaps you should go visit my brother. It seems like he won’t be returning to court for a while. With all the confusion today, the spying servants will be off their game. It might be the safest time to go for a visit. Catch up on old times. Maybe you could help him…pack,” he said pointedly in reply.

Sho was a mixture of angry and embarrassed, turning away. “Good night, Your Highness,” he said haughtily, and Nino held in a laugh.


	9. Chapter 9

When Sho was gone, he moved into the courtyard, looking up with a knowing smile. It wasn’t long before the water show began, Satoshi leaping even higher this time, riding the spout of water down into the pool. He deftly snatched the vial from the statue’s hand, jumping from the spout to the edge of the pool and into Nino’s personal space with bouncing, eager steps.

He stunned Nino with an unexpectedly hard kiss, nearly knocking him back against the courtyard wall. But he welcomed the greeting, returning Satoshi’s kiss with everything he had. It had not even been a full day since they’d seen one another, and yet it felt like so much had changed. Sho was right - Nino’s life had been threatened that day. It made the moments he had with Satoshi all the more precious.

“She’s truly gone,” Satoshi said, pulling back and pointing at him with the vial of kerida blossom. “I watched the carriage vanish into the distance myself!”

No wonder he was in such a merry mood. The woman who’d made it her life’s work to torment him had been banished once again.

“Your brother played a crucial role in that,” Nino admitted, snatching the vial from the god’s hand and heading inside. “But she really dug her own grave.”

“Don’t jest about graves,” Satoshi chided him, dutifully waiting by the curtains for Nino to fetch another towel for his wet feet. “I will not truly be satisfied until I know she’s in one. Permanently.”

Nino returned, kneeling down again. But this time he lingered, gently rubbing the towel over Satoshi’s feet, feeling his hand rest on his shoulder to keep his balance while he lifted them in turn so Nino could dry the sole of each foot. When he was finished he looked up, seeing a hungered look in Satoshi’s dark eyes.

“I have double the guards posted outside my chambers tonight,” Nino told him. “We’ll have to have quiet study this evening.”

“Then we should locate ourselves as far from your door as we can. Perhaps I’ll let you draw me a bath…”

Nino got to his feet, shaking his head in amusement. Once a stubborn god, always a stubborn god. “We will work in here, but we work quietly. And we _will_ work, Satoshi.”

“If you don’t make my language sound like a cat’s howl, I might reward you,” Satoshi teased. Nino deliberately sat across from him at the table, if only to keep some distance between them for the time being.

It was a rather charged meeting of the minds that night. Satoshi had brought another bundle of papers Jun had given him, but he scrutinized each of them closely before deciding which word and associated syllables and sounds Nino was to learn next. He stumbled his way through pronunciations of various body parts. Elbows, arms, necks. Feet, ankles, knees. 

Eyes. 

Lips.

Mouths.

He could see that Satoshi was just about to get up when he held up a hand. “Not just yet,” Nino said. “We’ll do some combination words. I won’t allow you near until I’ve learned six new words for curse.”

Satoshi scowled at him, greedy. Nino always liked this part of budding love affairs. Seeing how long resistances could endure before giving up and giving in. Satoshi, being a god, likely wasn’t used to such…games of endurance.

But he obeyed as best he could, helping Nino to construct words from disparate parts. He tried a few phrases, combining ‘curse’ with one of the words for ‘end’ or one of the words for ‘stop.’ Satoshi shook his head. These weren’t the right words, not yet. He’d definitely know if Nino’s tattoos no longer held sway over him.

Another lesson over, the curse still stood. But that just meant that more lessons would be required until they found an answer. With the long days ahead, learning his place at court, he’d at least have something to look forward to.

Speaking of things to look forward to…

He got to his feet, taking Satoshi by the hand and pulling him to his bedroom, shutting the door. In the candlelight, they undressed one another, slowly, purposefully. He pressed a kiss to Satoshi’s bare shoulder when he’d managed to strip the worn cotton shirt from him.

“Tell me something.”

“Yours to command,” came the grouchy response.

He smiled against Satoshi’s sun-kissed skin. “I remember some stories from when I was younger.”

“Mmm.”

“Keep in mind that I never believed in gods in the first place. But I remember one story I heard, I was trying to listen in on some pretty older girls outside my parents’ tent one night. I’m fairly sure it was a cautionary tale meant to scare girls into avoiding strange men who sought to steal their virtue.”

Satoshi tilted his head back, letting Nino kiss along his shoulder, leaving a damp trail up his neck. 

“They said that you had to be careful if a stranger came calling. He might be a god in disguise. And if you gave yourself to him, the act might drive you mad.”

“Mad?” Satoshi chuckled, pulling Nino up to kiss him again. He easily opened up his mouth, letting Satoshi slip his tongue inside. Tongue…that was a word he hadn’t learned tonight though. Among a few others.

Nino moved away first, smiling as Satoshi helped to free him from the confines of his linen trousers. “Oh yes, the story said that humans and gods are too different. A human can’t really bear a god’s power.” He chuckled. “I remember one of the younger girls asking what that meant, and one of the older girls said that if a god spilled himself inside you, you’d likely die from the shock of it. And if you survived, it would render you mad.”

Satoshi nearly bent double laughing, struggling with the ties keeping his trousers snug around his hips. “This is what human children speak of?”

“Older children who know the facts of life, I suppose. So tell me, Satoshi…” He waited for the god’s eyes to meet his again. “If I let you come inside me, will I die?”

Satoshi leaned forward, brushing his lips to the corner of Nino’s mouth. “I’m forbidden to harm you.”

“That doesn’t quite answer my question,” Nino teased.

“It has been a very, very long time since I’ve come inside anyone,” he mumbled, pushing his fingers against Nino’s lips to silence him. “So perhaps I’ve forgotten.”

He smiled. Well, there was only one way to find out. _And what a way to die_ , he thought with a soft laugh.

Nino discovered that a god’s anatomy differed very little from his own once they were both free of all their clothes. Satoshi had a small, lean frame as he did, but he was well-muscled, firm and strong. He let his eyes drop lower, drifting down his abdomen, following the soft trail of black hair down, pleased at the sight of the hard, eager cock that proved Satoshi’s desperate interest.

He moved to the bed, saying nothing as he nodded for Satoshi to join him. They lay back against the luxurious abundance of pillows, watching each other for a few moments. He traced his fingers along Satoshi’s arms, down his chest. When he reached along his side, he discovered that a god could be ticklish, too.

He relented, letting Satoshi explore his body as well. He was slow, deliberate, running his fingertips along every inch of skin he could manage as Nino shut his eyes, breathing in the scent of him so close. He groaned a little, sighing as Satoshi’s deft fingers traced inside his thigh, up and down his shaft, thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock before moving elsewhere. He only opened his eyes when he felt Satoshi’s fingers trace along the six purple markings on his left arm.

He looked into Satoshi’s eyes, taking a breath. “I could cover it.”

“No,” Satoshi said, shaking his head. “No, it’s part of you.”

Satoshi moved him onto his back, leaning over him, kissing him slowly, almost reverently. Nino had known many pleasurable nights over the course of his short life, but he couldn’t quite remember any like this. He couldn’t remember any nights where he felt like he was being so thoroughly tasted, savored from head to toe.

“Do you have something that will make this enjoyable?” Satoshi finally asked.

He grinned. He’d gone to the rooftop many, many nights in those borrowed servant’s robes to give the impression he was out and about to find his next conquest. It had only seemed natural to have a bit of oil with him for appearance’s sake. He reluctantly pulled away from Satoshi’s soft, lingering kisses and moved to the edge of the bed. This was something he didn’t much care if his new spying servants found. He snuck his hand beneath the mattress and bed frame, grasping for the vial he still kept.

He turned back, holding it with a shy grin. “You don’t need much, it’s a fairly potent mixture.”

Satoshi took the vial, smiling. “This something they teach all healers to make?”

“Not all healers. Just the overly lustful ones.”

Nino learned that it really had been a long time since Satoshi had found himself in bed with another. But since Satoshi had taken it upon himself to teach Nino how to speak the language of the gods, then it was only fair that Nino play the instructor role where he could in exchange.

They took it slow, Nino coating his fingers with the lubricating oil, showing him what needed to be done. It hadn’t been decades for Nino, but it had still been some time since he’d been penetrated. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect from the cock of a god, so he worked slowly, gently, easing the tip of his finger inside himself. Satoshi was close, watching with those dark, wanting eyes. He encouraged Satoshi to take over, sighing softly when his fingers were replaced inside him with unfamiliar ones. Satoshi kept a hand between his legs, gently thrusting his finger inside him as he curled up next to him, kissing him like each might be their last.

He was hard, and he couldn’t help stroking his cock in time with the languid motion of Satoshi’s finger inside him. He encouraged Satoshi with soft gasps, his body slowly relaxing and adjusting around the intrusion. He bit his lip, crying out when he felt Satoshi slip another warm, slippery finger into him. It was the most thorough preparation he’d ever experienced, his face flushed and his limbs shaking at the building sensation between his legs.

“Please, when you’re ready…I want you…” he murmured, face half buried against Satoshi’s neck.

“You are certain?”

“Please.”

He felt the absence of Satoshi’s touch keenly, groaning in disappointment. He earned a laugh for that, Satoshi moving over to position himself more easily between his legs. He watched, licking his lips as Satoshi’s poured a little more of the lubricating oil into his palm, slicking it over his hard, heavy cock. 

“Eyes up here,” Satoshi said.

Nino looked up, grinning. “ _Eyes up here_ ,” he replied in the language of the gods.

He moaned a bit when he felt the thick head of Satoshi’s cock press against him. But he didn’t tell him to stop. He shut his eyes, breathing in and out as he braced himself for the first few shallow thrusts of a god’s cock inside his very much human body. 

He nodded his approval, and Satoshi moved with a slow but steady grace. Their bodies fit together in a way Nino could not have imagined. Satoshi was on top of him, pushing forward, clearly holding himself back so Nino could be comfortable. He felt Satoshi’s breath against his face. Months earlier, if someone had told him that he was going to be fucked by a god, he’d have questioned the person’s sanity.

But here was Satoshi, cursed by Nino’s own family. A god with power beyond Nino’s comprehension. That same Satoshi cared for him, loved him. The stories said that what they were doing right now could kill him or leave him crazed. But all he knew was that he wanted this. He wanted this so much he couldn’t comprehend it.

He leaned up, bringing his hand to the back of Satoshi’s head and pulling him down. He opened his mouth as he’d so unabashedly opened his heart, tears of happiness, tears of satisfaction slipping from his eyes as he felt Satoshi’s thick cock fill him again and again, Satoshi’s tongue moving in time so that every part of Nino might be full with him. Fuck me, he wanted to say. Fuck me and don’t stop, but those were rather dangerous orders to give to a god who had little choice but to obey your command. He thought it instead, thought of staying in this bed, in their small but shared universe, and never letting him go.

He felt almost feverish, his body so hot, burning with the closeness of the god who could make him feel warm from three floors away. “Satoshi,” he begged him, moving his body, his hips, hearing the god moan as Nino met his every eager thrust.

There were guards outside his door, but they were rooms and rooms away. He wrapped his arms around Satoshi, holding tight to his shoulders. “Kazu,” Satoshi replied, entering him again and again. “Kazu…”

Words failed him in both the common tongue and the language of the gods. Where any normal man might have given in, Satoshi persisted, plunging his hard cock into him without seeming to tire. Nino almost laughed, discovering where human weakness faltered and where a god’s power picked up the slack. Perhaps this was the madness the girls feared when they shared their lustful fairy tales. He knew that if they didn’t stop soon that he’d be sore come morning, no matter how much he’d readied his body for it. 

“Please,” he finally said, giving in, clinging to Satoshi. “Please.”

He didn’t quite take it as an order, but understood nonetheless. He felt Satoshi’s movements slow, opened his eyes and looked up to see a smile on his face. Nino traced a bead of sweat along the side of Satoshi’s face. 

“If you kill me or drive me mad, I will not forgive you.”

Satoshi grimaced, letting out an irritated laugh that sent a tremor of pleasure all the way down Nino’s spine. And then he gave in, shook off all pretense or politeness. Nino could only hold on, gasping, riding it out. He moaned at the surprising surge of warmth inside him, having received no warning. Payback, he supposed. Satoshi stilled within him, humming in a satisfied way that made him smile, knowing he was the cause of it. 

“Not dead,” Satoshi murmured, mouth trailing along his neck before gently pulling out of him.

“Mmmm. No, I’m not.”

“Insane?”

“We’ll see come morning. Might take a while to kick in since I am a sweaty, oiled mess.”

“You talk a lot after, hmm?”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Satoshi let out a low little chuckle. “See if you can keep quiet.”

Nino gasped in surprise when Satoshi, hair sticking out every which way and with a grin on his flushed face, took hold of his cock, working him with quick, powerful strokes. It took only a minute before he was moving, thrusting up and into Satoshi’s hand, desperate for the friction. He earned another laugh when he came, dirtying himself further as Satoshi stroked him through it.

When he finally came back to himself, Satoshi was already returning from the washroom with towels and warm water.

He fell asleep to the warm press of cloth along his stomach, to the even warmer press of Satoshi’s lips against his thigh.

“I love you,” he murmured, happily drifting away. Not dead, not mad. But perhaps something new entirely.

—

By day, Nino sat in on meetings, took notes, learned affairs of state. Masaki took over matters surrounding the king’s ninetieth birthday, working with the king’s advisors to plan the event and more importantly, to plan how Nino might be re-introduced to the kingdom’s elites. Sho arranged for an endless parade of tailors to come to Nino’s apartments, draping him in fabric. Poking him with pins.

Thankfully Sho was also available to keep Nino grounded, reporting on the news he’d heard. Things were quieter now that Rumiko and the dark cloud that surrounded her had vanished from the palace. And it was nearly five weeks before Jun finally returned from Katashina-mura, the village that was home to the luxurious estate where the princess was now staying. If Sho seemed a little more nervous than usual about the prince’s return from the east, Nino decided not to tease him about it. At some point Sho would have to admit a few things to himself, now that he didn’t have the fear of death hanging over him. But of course, that was Sho’s business.

It was nighttime where Nino felt safest, happiest. And full of purpose. Another month of language lessons had left him with an even bigger arsenal of words at his disposal. And he suspected he was getting closer. When Nino had spoken one of the phrases that meant simply “I release you,” Satoshi had reacted to it immediately, his eyes filling with tears. Masaki had had a similar reaction, telling Nino it had felt like someone had been squeezing his heart and had loosened their grip just a bit. Initially disheartened, Masaki had enveloped him in one of his gentle hugs.

“I haven’t felt this way in eight hundred years,” Masaki had confessed. “You really can do it, Ninomiya Kazunari.”

They were on the right track. After all these months, and after all those long years, it might truly be possible.

He spent almost every night with his personal tutor, discovering that a god’s stamina and persistence took a lot of getting used to. Sometimes Nino managed to stay awake long enough to watch Satoshi slip away, almost dancing atop a column of water. Other times, bone tired and lips swollen from kisses, he simply fell asleep in his bed, a good night kiss from Satoshi barely registering.

They never spoke about what breaking the curse might actually mean. That, Nino felt, was a pointless thing. Because they hadn’t broken the curse. They worked at it every night, Nino sounding out syllables until his throat was dry, and still they hadn’t broken it. During the day, the king still had the gods doing his bidding. He had Masaki fill fountains, he had Satoshi fill wells. Sometimes Nino was given the assignment instead, either as a test of loyalty or because his grandfather still found him lacking in ruthlessness. Their pain was ongoing, inescapable, unavoidable.

Nino knew what they had together was precious, something he had to cherish while he had it. Of all the humans in all the world, a son of the God of the Waters had chosen to love him. It had been both the most difficult and most fulfilling month of his life, having Satoshi by his side. Satoshi in his bed. But when Satoshi had his freedom, Nino knew that his own feelings didn’t matter. 

For eight hundred years, Satoshi had looked off at the eastern sky, longing for home, enduring an impossible situation. A few months with Nino couldn’t really erase that, and so he simply chose not to bring it up. When Satoshi was free, Nino knew, he was _free_. Free to go home, free to take on the form he was born in, and if that meant returning to the Undersea Palace - a place where Nino couldn’t follow - then so be it. That choice would be Satoshi’s alone to make.

He returned that night from a late dinner in his grandfather’s apartments. The old man was waited on hand and foot by a group of young maids in red robes barely out of their teens. The old man watched them with his half-crusted over eyes, pinching and leering, licking his chapped lips. Nino had barely been able to keep his food down.

“One day this will all be yours,” his grandfather had said, his fingers running absent-mindedly over the rotted, poisoned skin of his tattooed arm.

He found a scrap of paper on his desk, knowing that Masaki had once again found a way to get Sho to write down a secret message. After so many weeks of study, he didn’t have to think long for an answer.

It was a dangerous thing, but he found himself unable to resist. He tore the paper to bits, scattering the remains in a planter and covering it over with dirt. He washed his hands, heading for the exit. Four members of the Kingsguard trailed him through the halls. Even though the threat of Rumiko had gone, his grandfather had him watched everywhere he went.

He paused at the archway that led underground. “I will be bathing, gentlemen,” he said in the firm voice he’d worked so hard to cultivate here in the cruel palace. “I am not to be disturbed.”

They weren’t going to budge, but at least they weren’t going to follow him inside. He was a Matsumoto, and his own brother was known for hosting his raunchy parties in the baths below the palace. Let the Kingsguard (and through them, his grandfather) believe he was no different in that regard.

Of course, there was only one soul waiting for him, sitting on the edge of the main pool. His trousers were rolled up to his knees, his bare feet plunged into the cool depths. 

He crossed his arms, trying not to smile. Warmth still trickled up and down his left arm at the sight of him every time, and Nino now knew for a fact that it was mutual. From the moment Nino had been tattooed, Satoshi had been able to sense him. That too would vanish along with the curse, Nino thought before immediately tamping the sentiment away.

“Dangerous,” he said quietly, though the arched ceilings bounced his voice around. “Meeting here.”

Satoshi grinned in reply, getting to his feet. It left him in awe every time, watching what Satoshi could do with water when he wasn’t being forced. Nino watched him step forward, floating only inches above the pool below, gliding slowly across until he was facing Nino, the water gently rippling in the path he’d left behind.

“I want to try something,” Satoshi whispered, holding out his hand. “Please?”

Nino narrowed his eyes. “I’ll sink.”

“I won’t let you.”

He frowned. “Why now? We ought to study.”

Satoshi floated just a bit closer, until some water splashed over the edge of the pool, brushing against Nino’s sandals. “I don’t want to study. I’d like a night off, just once. Just once I want you all to myself with nothing keeping me from you.”

He cocked his head. “You read those sweet words in a book?”

“One of Masaki’s probably,” Satoshi said with a wink. “He’s a romantic fool, you know.”

Nino sighed, slipping out of his sandals and moving to the edge of the pool. It was only a few feet deep, nothing to fear. He took Satoshi’s hand, trusting him despite his wink. In moments they were moving, Satoshi’s arm protectively around his back as Nino rested his hands on his shoulders. 

He could feel the water skimming under his feet, whimpering a bit in fright as Satoshi started to pull them to and fro, picking up speed, gliding all around. As they moved, the water lifted them and lowered them, Satoshi guiding them over the waves he created with only his own thoughts.

“You could open your eyes,” Satoshi teased, his grip firm and strong. 

“I’ll vomit on you,” Nino complained. “Slow down.”

They did slow, but mostly because Nino had commanded it. Instead of floating around, Satoshi had them simply sway from side to side, as though they were dancing close just over the water. He cracked open an eye, looking into Satoshi’s. Open, trusting. Amused. Nino lifted his hand, stroking Satoshi’s face. 

“I much prefer your other seduction techniques,” Nino told him, fearing every moment that Satoshi might drop him simply to laugh about it. “Where you show up in my room and just start taking your clothes off. Simple. Straight to the point. It’s what I like about you.”

“I want to tell you something.”

He sighed. “And so you brought me down here when my room has such amenities as, oh, let me see…a solid floor beneath your feet. Or a sturdy mattress that’s endured a lot these last few weeks. And if you’re in need of water, you could have a bath…”

“Kazunari, be quiet.”

He shut up immediately. Something was wrong.

“Masaki and I have been talking. At least since the other night.”

“ _I release you_ ,” he whispered, feeling Satoshi’s grip on him tighten.

“Yes, since the night we heard you say that.”

He waited, still a bit irritated that Satoshi had chosen this venue for what seemed to be an important talk.

“It’s about what he and I plan to do when we are freed.”

Nino held in a breath. No. No, he hadn’t wanted to have this conversation. Not yet anyway.

“I thought you should know what I’m planning so it doesn’t come as a surprise. And I thought you should know because I will not allow you to stop me.” 

“What…what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to kill the king. And your aunt.”

Nino took a breath, then another. He spoke again. “Get me out of this pool. Now.”

Satoshi obliged, floating them over to the edge of the pool with little artistry this time. Nino was grateful for solid ground, sitting and crossing his legs to keep from shaking. Satoshi moved to sit in his usual way, hunched over with his feet in the water. They sat there quietly for a few moments.

“Masaki is undecided. He wishes for their deaths, even if he won’t speak the words aloud, but I know him. I know my brother, and what he has suffered at their hands,” Satoshi mumbled. “But he is kind at heart. So that is why I will do it myself.”

“The Kingsguard protect my grandfather. And whatever desert hole Rumiko’s in, I can guarantee there are Kingsguard watching her as well.”

“I am a god, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I certainly haven’t,” Nino snapped. “But there would be consequences, even if your revenge is justified.”

“And what consequences are those?” he replied. “Evil is overthrown. You are free to rule. You are free to change things, make this kingdom a better place.”

“Why not just leave? Why not just get away from here?” He laughed bitterly. “After what you’ve endured, you might have your father send a flood and wipe us from existence, this palace, this entire kingdom. It needn’t be by your own hand.”

“Because I would see the light leave their eyes myself,” Satoshi said. “Then I will know that it is over.”

“And if other people get in the way of it? The Kingsguard, the civilians and servants of the palace? Will they die by your hand as well?”

Satoshi looked at him. “If it comes to that, then yes.”

He shut his eyes, trying to find words. He’d feel no sadness if Kotaro and Rumiko were killed, but Satoshi was no murderer. 

“There is a cost to everything. You have the markings of your bloodline embedded in your skin, so you know this better than anyone,” Satoshi said.

“You are good. It is not just your brother who is kind at heart,” Nino said. “If you have to harm innocents to get what you want, it will break you, Satoshi.”

“I am prepared for that.”

He got to his feet. There was no arguing with a stubborn god. “You will come for lessons tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will see you tomorrow.”

He wasn’t surprised when Satoshi didn’t bother to tell him good night.

—

He could sense the shift between them over the next several weeks. Satoshi, unapologetic, was pressing Nino hard with darker words, serious words. They had trouble meeting one another’s eyes - Satoshi who refused to stray from his planned course, Nino who knew that he would be the one to unlock everything so that Satoshi could get what he wanted.

The ease with which they’d spoken had reversed, and the soft moments they spent together in Nino’s bed had lost their innocence. Nino reluctantly accepted that he would be complicit in murder. He could pray all he wanted that only Kotaro and Rumiko would be made to pay for their mistakes. But there was no guarantee that a god freed from eight hundred years of pain, his powers fully restored, would be able to rein himself in entirely.

The language lessons went on longer, the time they spent making love grew shorter. Satoshi, understanding Nino’s disappointment in him, no longer initiated anything himself. Some nights their lessons ended, and he simply departed without a word. And yet on others Nino clung to him desperately, the room filled only with the harsh sounds of heavy breathing, of bodies joining. No sweet words, no declarations of love. He only let Satoshi take him from behind, Nino’s fingers clinging to the sheets as he buried his cries of both pleasure and sorrow in the mattress or a pillow. If he looked into Satoshi’s eyes, he was afraid that he might never again see the innocent look he’d witnessed on the day they’d met. He was afraid that part of him, the part of Satoshi he loved most, had been hidden away, never to return so he might fulfill the mission he’d set for himself.

One night Nino abandoned his rooms entirely, walking the palace grounds to clear his mind. The Kingsguard followed him just steps behind, and he could feel movement in the shadows, could feel the burning in his left arm. Satoshi was watching, Satoshi was close, but he couldn’t approach.

He let out his frustration on the servants who were underfoot throughout the day, poking and prodding at him, inconveniencing him at every turn. He could barely speak to Sho, for fear that he might lose his temper and confess it all. It was best Sho believed that Nino was simply exhausted from matters of state, that the dark circles under his eyes had nothing to do with Satoshi.

He sat at his grandfather’s side at meetings, knowing that any night he might learn the words that would result in the old man’s death and more importantly, the words that would result in the deaths of any man or woman who tried to prevent it. Masaki was usually in the room, his expression serious. Nino could see in his eyes that he knew what his brother was planning. And Masaki knew that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

—

The celebration for the king was only a few days away when the words were finally unlocked. Roughly translated into the common tongue, it was nearly as vague as the wind blowing down mountains Nino bore on his left arm. 

_From the river that was choked and its tributaries emptied, I release you._

As soon as the words left his lips, Satoshi let out a gasp. He backed away from the table, hands at his throat. Nino stumbled over to him, watching him where he lay on the floor, body shaking. His eyes filled with tears, and Nino trembled. 

“Say…say it again. Please.”

Nino bit his lip, knowing he had to. He couldn’t keep it from him. “ _From the river that was choked and its tributaries emptied, I release you_.”

Satoshi still quaked with shock, and a few terrifying moments passed before Nino watched him shakily sit up again, hand to his obviously aching head.

“Are you…is it over?”

Satoshi was breathing heavily. “I’m close…I know it’s close. Those are the words. Those have to be the words.” He looked up at him, eyes widening. “Kazu…no. Oh no…”

Nino looked down, shuddering in fright. The six tattoos on his arm were bleeding. No, not bleeding. He panicked, falling to his knees. They were oozing ink, thick streams of it burning across his flesh. It ached. Gods, it ached. “What do I do? What do I do? _What do I do_?”

Satoshi scrambled to his feet, running from the room. Nino was shaking, unable to breathe. All he could do was cradle his arm in his hand, watching the purple stain across his skin. There was so much of it, so much of it. It felt the same as it had in his room that day, the needles plunging into his skin again and again and again. But if he screamed, the Kingsguard might come in and so he bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood. What was happening?

Satoshi returned with a wet towel, the dripping cloth held in his shaking hands. “Let me. Please let me.”

He whimpered as Satoshi pressed the towel against his arm, the fabric soaking through in purple in seconds. But it kept coming, spilling onto the table, the scraps of paper, the floor. He was growing lightheaded, the pain consuming him entirely.

“What’s going on?” he gasped.

Satoshi fled, nearly slipping on the ink that was soaking through the tatami floor. Nino heard splashing in his bathtub. He was filling it with water. He could barely keep his eyes open when Satoshi returned, lifting Nino into his arms and carrying him to the other room. He moaned when he entered the water, some of it splashing out and onto the floor. He looked down at his arm, staring at it until he could no longer see it, the water turning almost black. 

It was still oozing from his flesh, the poisoned, cursed ink. There hadn’t been this much of it when the tattoos had been given to him, he thought. Why was there so much of it?

Satoshi’s hands were stained as he grasped Nino’s face in his hands. “Kazu. Kazu, listen to me.”

“Are you free?” he mumbled. “Did I free you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t…I don’t know. But I have to find Masaki. I…I have to find him.”

“I will free him too. I will free him.”

“Stay where you are,” Satoshi said, pressing an urgent kiss against his temple. “Stay here.”

When Satoshi was gone, he let the pain overwhelm him, let himself fade.

—

He woke in an unfamiliar bed, opening his eyes to find Masaki sitting on the mattress beside him, holding a damp cloth against his forehead. Light was filtering in from the neighboring room. It was morning. He’d likely been unconscious or asleep for hours.

“Masaki,” he croaked, feeling weak, exhausted.

Masaki offered him a gentle smile, poking his chin. “It’s good to see you awake.”

“Where am I?”

“Much has happened. You are in Prince Jun’s rooms.”

“Jun?” He tried to move, to sit up, but Masaki pressed a hand against his chest, keeping him down.

“Yes, Satoshi and I took advantage of the confusion to bring you here. You are safe here.”

“I don’t understand…”

“The king is dead,” Masaki said plainly, watching him with wary eyes. “Kotaro is dead. The same thing that you endured happened to him when you spoke the words.”

“Dead?!”

“I was a few rooms over when I heard him scream. They summoned doctors, healers, the Kingsguard. I watched from the doorway, I watched him die.” Masaki took a deep breath, as though even he couldn’t believe what he’d seen. “His bed, the rugs on the floor…his entire suite was full of ink. I need you to know that he died in agony. He choked on it. There was so much of it that he choked on it, drowned in it.”

Nino shut his eyes at the thought of it. “If the king is dead…”

“…then Jun succeeds him,” came Sho’s soft voice. 

Masaki finally relented, helping Nino to sit up in bed. He looked down, saw that his arm was bare. His skin had stained patches, blotches of purple they hadn’t fully scrubbed from him. The outlines of the tattoos remained, but their color had faded to a sickly gray. Sho was standing in the doorway, looking just as tired as Nino felt.

“Sakurai Sho is right,” Masaki said. “You would have been named heir in the ceremony to come, but since there was no official announcement, it’s as though the succession never changed.”

“I have no desire to be king,” he whispered. “Let him have it.”

“The palace is a madhouse right now. Kingsguard and advisors. Some of them have simply fled, others are demanding answers. Jun is trying his best to restore order, but people are frightened,” Sho admitted. “Nino, I cannot stay, I’m sorry. I only wanted to know that you are well.”

Nino raised his hand, shooing him. “He needs you. Go.”

Sho bowed to him, hurrying away.

He looked up at Masaki. “Are you free?”

The god shook his head. “No.”

His heart sank. “Why not?”

“You said the words to Satoshi. But I felt them. I felt them, too. I know that they are right. But when you said them aloud, I believe that they only served to cancel out the existing curse. It is why the poisoned ink drained from you. From the king. And from Jun.”

“Did it hurt Jun?”

Masaki shook his head. “Sakurai Sho found him. He wasn’t hurt. Alarmed, obviously, but not hurt. It simply seeped out of his skin. So that left me and Satoshi convinced that the curse breaking affected you all proportionately. ‘You’ being the members of the Matsumoto family who have been tattooed.”

“Jun never hurt you,” Nino mumbled. “Jun had no power.”

“Exactly. The poison simply left him. You, on the other hand, you’ve been made to use your power many times these last few months. So you suffered. And then as to Kotaro…”

Nino felt a sense of satisfaction, somewhere deep down. He took no pleasure in another person’s death, but it seemed a perfect end for someone so cruel, someone who had hurt Masaki and Satoshi for decades. He had drowned, choking on the curse of his ancestors.

“Where is Satoshi?”

Masaki’s expression was grim. “He is gathering supplies for travel. Since he was unable to see to the king’s end himself, he has decided to find Rumiko.”

Nino shook his head. He had seen her arm. He had seen the things she had done, had learned the sins of her past as well. Her body ought to have been full of poison. Her suffering would have been long and painful, the same as Kotaro’s. 

“Isn’t it likely that she’s dead?”

“He wishes to confirm it with his own eyes. Or to complete the act himself,” Masaki said. “But he will need your permission to leave.”

He laughed bitterly. “There is no power in me now, is there? I can’t force him to stay.”

“We are not yet free. Satoshi says you spoke the words twice. The words are right, but the method of their delivery is not.” Masaki sounded ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

Nino met Masaki’s eyes, saw in that exact moment what was required.

Before he could speak, Masaki was shaking his head. “You don’t have to. Your body is weakened, you need to rest. It is likely Rumiko is dead anyway, so there is no reason for Satoshi to leave right away. And with the chaos here in the palace, I don’t believe it is the right time.”

“I promised the both of you that I would free you,” Nino said quietly. “I will not go back on that promise. And I will not delay it.”

“It might _kill_ you,” Masaki interrupted him sharply. “I told my brother the same and still he prepares to ride into the desert. He cares only about his revenge.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “Yes,” he whispered. “That sounds like him.”

Nino reached out, taking Masaki’s hand into his own. It was cool, soothing when he twined their fingers together.

“He only has to wait until I can talk with Jun. Work with Sho, Masaki. Help him. And help my brother.”

“Of course,” Masaki vowed.

“And until then, I will rest.” He took a deep breath, squeezing Masaki’s hand. “I will fulfill my promise, no matter what it costs.”


	10. Chapter 10

He felt warm prickles run up and down his arm as he slept, but when he opened his eyes, the room was empty. Satoshi had been near, but he hadn’t come close.

It was dark when he woke again for good.

He slowly pushed the blankets away, still a bit lightheaded when he got to his feet. He shuffled through the well-appointed bedchamber, finding them all sitting in the next room over, the four of them. Two Kingsguard stood at the opposite end of the room, ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice.

Jun and Sho had their heads together, the table overburdened with scrolls and papers. With the king’s sudden, gruesome death, it would be a long time before Jun would be able to assume full control of the kingdom. But he had the best person to help him by his side.

Masaki was sitting in quiet observation, a nervous look in his eyes. And then pacing the floor impatiently was Satoshi, who turned to look at him before Nino could even speak. He hovered in the doorway instead, holding onto the frame to keep from toppling over in exhaustion.

It was Jun who was the first to speak. He turned to the guards and dismissed them. They obeyed without complaint, which meant that Jun was being respected again after so many years of cloaking himself in apathy.

When the five of them were alone, Nino bowed his head to his brother.

“Your Majesty.”

Jun rose to his feet, putting his hands on his hips. He took a deep breath before he spoke, eyes serious. “This is what you truly want?”

He nodded.

Masaki shook his head. “No. We should wait.”

“It is too dangerous,” Sho agreed.

Satoshi didn’t bother to offer his opinion. Nino already knew what he wanted.

“Will you do it?” Nino asked Jun. “I’m sure you’ve had counsel and advice from all of them, but this is your kingdom now and your decision to make.”

Jun had changed considerably from the day Nino had first seen him swagger into the royal audience chamber. It was clear that he had taken command firmly, and that the Sun Kingdom would at last come into the right hands. The journey ahead of Jun was a perilous one, but things would surely change.

“I have already sent a cavalry division ahead to Hinohara Castle,” Jun announced, moving around the table to come and stand before him. “Nobody comes in or out. If Rumiko is alive in there, she will not be allowed to leave.”

Nino held on to the doorframe with his tainted arm, holding out his right one instead, palm up. Jun frowned, taking hold of him by the wrist. Jun’s fingers slid along his unmarked skin.

“It should be done properly,” Jun said quietly. “As ours were done.”

“We don’t need to involve anyone else.” He lowered his voice so only Jun might hear him. “Brother, this is a shared duty. We must see it through.”

“You will be hurt. Again,” Jun whispered, sounding anxious.

“The cause is just,” Nino replied, grinning.

Jun let him go, turning. “Satoshi,” he called out. “When you are free and you’ve ensured that the witch is dead, what will you do? Will you bring trouble to this kingdom? Will you seek further vengeance against me or my family?”

Satoshi stopped his pacing, looking at Jun with a cold stare. “No, Your Majesty. I will go home.”

Nino tried not to react, tried not to let it get to him. He’d made a promise. And he was going to keep it, even if it meant never seeing Satoshi again. Satoshi who couldn’t even bring himself to meet Nino’s eyes.

“Well, there you have it,” he said lightly. “We can all trust that Satoshi will be true to his word. He is not a fickle human, after all.”

“But _I_ am a fickle human,” Jun announced. “And here is what this fickle human demands. Kazunari, you will receive the new marks tonight…”

“No!” Masaki shouted, jumping to his feet.

“But I forbid you to speak the words they represent until you are inside Hinohara Castle. Satoshi. If Rumiko is already dead, then she is no threat to me and Kazunari has my permission to free you. If Rumiko is alive, then Kazunari can free you and you may deal with her as you choose. But you cannot harm anyone else.”

Satoshi’s eyes were dark, unreadable. “And my brother?”

“Masaki stays here in Amaterasu with me when you and Kazunari depart. He is free to leave when the words are spoken. But not a moment before.”

Satoshi stared at Jun, gaze unfaltering. Jun returned the sentiment.

“Your terms are fair,” Satoshi agreed.

“Satoshi!” Masaki protested, moving across the room, shaking his brother. “Satoshi, you cannot do this. Wait another day. Wait a week, at least. Look at him, he can barely stand. Look at him!”

Nino swallowed, saying nothing as he felt the intensity of Satoshi’s eyes finally turn to him. There was no way a handful of months would win out over eight hundred years. Nino had known that all along.

Satoshi easily brushed his brother’s hands aside. “Your Majesty,” he said, “let us proceed.”

It happened quickly. Sho was sent to Rumiko’s now-abandoned chambers for the ink. An angry but obedient Masaki worked with the Kingsguard to find the special chair. And Nino sat at Jun’s side, slowly writing down the characters that Jun would first trace and then stab into his skin.

_From the river that was choked and its tributaries emptied, I release you._

He couldn’t just say the words, Nino now understood. They had to be part of him, part of his blood. Forever.

Sho was gentle, tears falling onto Nino’s clothes as he got him strapped into the horrible chair, locking his unblemished right arm into place. He shut his eyes, breathing in and out as he felt the tickle of the pen Jun used to trace each character onto his arm, Masaki beside him ensuring that each one was accurately drawn. For Nino’s sake, they would be drawn small, from the crook of his arm running halfway to his wrist. Their size didn’t matter, only their meaning. And their power.

He could hear the three of them whispering, Jun’s voice the shakiest of all as the long tattooist’s needles were loaded into the tool that had been used on him before. Rumiko had cursed the ink that was used to mark him, and he didn’t quite know the words to say. But he supposed that he didn’t have to say the same thing. He didn’t want it to be a curse this time. 

He wanted it to be a promise.

Jun finished tracing, clearing his throat. He opened his eyes, saw his brother sitting beside him with the half-empty pot of ink. It would be enough. It would be more than enough.

“Forgive me,” Jun mumbled, pulling the stopper from the pot and holding it out.

Nino found the words he wanted. “ _Let Satoshi and Masaki be forever free_.”

Though Sho and Jun hadn’t understood him, he knew that Satoshi and Masaki had. He could see the ink bubble, change color. It reacted to the words he’d spoken. 

At the last moment, Jun hesitated. But Nino didn’t.

“Brother. Do it.”

Jun simply nodded, upending the pot over his arm, the purple staining across his pale skin, dripping down onto the metal trough beneath. It was still painful, but not as it had been the first time. Perhaps a promise caused less damage than a curse.

It didn’t, however, change the way the needles felt. He looked away, wondering what the members of the Kingsguard in the halls might think. Anyone passing by would think that their new king was torturing his own brother to death.

Jun’s movements weren’t as quick and steady as the tattooist’s had been, and it took an agonizingly long time. Sho and Masaki were already mixing ingredients together somewhere nearby, the stink of kerida blossom filling the room. They would do anything they could to keep Nino from descending into a feverish hell.

He tried to be strong, but he simply couldn’t manage it any longer. Jun plunged the needle tool into his skin over and over, the purple colliding with the red as it had before, and Nino’s screams finally took form. “Satoshi!” he howled, writhing in agony. “Satoshi!”

And then he was there. Then he was there. Crouching down beside him, arms around his middle. He could feel Satoshi’s lips against his neck, his warm whispers against his ear.

“I love you,” he was saying, softer than he ever had. “Kazu, I love you.”

Nino believed him.

—

Hinohara Castle was an eastward journey of four days from the capital, the first three by horse and the last by mule up a treacherous mountain pass. “Castle” was a bit misleading, Jun had explained before they departed. It was an old hunting lodge turned prison. Political exiles had been sent to Hinohara to rot for centuries. King Kotaro had chosen to send his daughter there. Multiple times.

They bore papers with the seal of the king. While the palace struggled to retain order, word of the king’s death had not been spread openly. Only trickles of news were likely reaching the streets of Amaterasu by now, and the countryside would learn of it later still. Jun had stamped everything they needed to get through checkpoints, but he’d used his grandfather’s seal to do it. It would be a while before he had his own.

They’d packed only what they needed, riding together on one horse, Satoshi with the reins and Nino sitting before him. Despite the constant motion, Nino had spent years sleeping in transit. He spent most hours on their horse only half-awake, comforted by the warmth of Satoshi behind him and this last mission that was theirs alone to complete.

They stayed in towns, using the money Jun had given them to see their horse cared for in stables overnight, to obtain food and proper lodging. Satoshi hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to him since they’d departed, hadn’t made a move to touch him aside from when they rode. He was singularly focused, Nino knew. He was driven by the hope that Rumiko yet lived, but only so that he might take her life himself. It was dark, it was ugly.

And Nino would help him.

The pain in his bandaged right arm was an ever-present throb, but the kerida blossom Sho and Masaki had ordered him to slather on his skin, to sprinkle on his food, and to chew on directly kept any fever at bay. He suspected he’d still be sore and tender when they arrived at Hinohara, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He’d only have to say the words once, and Satoshi would be free.

On the final day of their journey, with only the mountain trail still waiting for them, he woke to find their room empty. He ensured that his arms were covered, and he went out into the warm morning air. He hadn’t been abandoned. Such a thing was impossible, and he found Satoshi standing alone just out the back door of the inn, hands gripping the rail of the wooden balcony tightly, his shoulders shaking.

He was weeping.

There was no disguising his approach, and Nino moved to stand at his side, offering what comfort he might. Tears formed in his own eyes when Satoshi pulled on him, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing him tight.

He knew that Satoshi hated Rumiko all the way to his bones, so it was unlikely he was out here feeling guilty, having second thoughts about what he was going to do once they reached the castle. 

It took him only a few more moments to understand. The back of the hotel faced the rising sun. This was the closest Satoshi had been to his home in eight hundred years.

“It won’t be much longer,” Nino promised him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’ll be there soon.”

Satoshi said nothing, taking comfort where he could until they could delay themselves no longer. 

They took two mules up the mountain, a local guide from the town leading the way on a mule of his own. Nino introduced them as representatives from the king’s treasury. The cavalry force that had arrived and gone up the mountain a few days earlier was part of their expedition to determine if Hinohara Castle should continue or be replaced. The guide seemed to accept the explanation. He seemed to have no idea who the castle’s dangerous prisoner might be.

It was midday when the guide left them, and the Kingsguard met them. They knew that the king’s stamp was false, that it was Jun who now ruled in Amaterasu. They also knew that they were forbidden to enter the castle. The captain of the guard informed them that a rotating force of four men had been posted at Hinohara, but that nobody had come out of the place since they’d arrived. Either they’d deserted their posts or were still inside.

Nino asked for the men to stay outside, no matter what they heard inside. Nobody argued. They all knew who Satoshi was, and seeing him away from the confines of the palace likely struck fear into all their hearts.

The captain gave Nino a knife anyway, refusing to let him go inside without being able to defend himself. Nino doubted he would have need to use it, but he accepted it anyway. 

He followed Satoshi past the gates, letting the Kingsguard lock them behind them. The iron fence that surrounded the property was as tall as three men and impossible to climb. It was a single-story property, rundown and filthy, the hard-packed dirt home to only the occasional weed.

Satoshi walked in front, moving up the steps to slide open the front door. Nino jumped back in disgust as a body fell, a member of the Kingsguard dead for days, his throat slashed. He could see purple inkstains all over the man’s armor, the tatami flooring inside splattered. The language of the gods, the curse breaking, had reached out across the eastern sands. Rumiko had lost the curse that gave her life meaning, and she had fought against it as the poison had leaked from her.

The estate was quiet, rats rummaging around old furniture as they stepped over the corpse and made their way inside. It smelled of years of neglect, like dried piss and rotted food. Nino picked at the bandaging around his arm, slowly preparing to unravel it. Given the quiet and given the sheer amount of ink covering the walls and floors, it was unlikely Rumiko would put up much of a fight if she was still alive.

They found her in the rear of the house, two more dead soldiers pushed against the door. Nino suspected the fourth had fled for his life. Her clothing was in tatters, and she’d ripped most of the hair from her head, clumps of it lying on the table before her, twisted into little braids or flowers. She was sitting upright, her left arm on the table, nothing but a blackened stain. She was wheezing, still alive by sheer force of will, and when they stepped into the room, she somehow found the strength to lift her head.

The ink had fallen from her eyes like tears, hemorrhaged from her nose and from her mouth, dried streaks of it covering almost all of her face. Her father had drowned in it. But she had survived. Nino wasn’t sure how much of her was still alive in there though. 

She couldn’t speak, could only blink, the whites of her eyes stained with the poison ink. Perhaps she had only hung on in hopes that this moment would come.

She looked between them, gaze empty as ink continued to bubble and drip from the corners of her mouth. Satoshi stood before her, arms at his sides.

“She will not be able to fight back,” Nino said quietly, standing behind him.

“I know,” Satoshi said.

“She has suffered here. She continues to suffer.” 

He breathed through his mouth, trying not to inhale the scent of death and blood that permeated the whole house. When he got outside, Nino would simply have the Kingsguard burn it to the ground.

“I will not hurt any of the men outside,” Satoshi told him. “I agreed to his terms.”

“I know that.”

There was a tremor in Satoshi’s reply. “Kazunari. Please.”

Nino tugged the bandaging free from his arm, letting it flutter to the ground. He looked down at the small characters Jun had drawn. Purple, the same purple. No infection, no inflammation. Just the words to set them free. Unlike Raku’s curse, there’d never be a need to reverse it. The ink would stay under his skin until the day he died. He didn’t know what it might do to him, but it was worth the risk.

“Will you look at me and not at her?”

Satoshi turned, his eyes rimmed in red, his lips trembling. Nino held his arm out, not caring about the pain.

“Will you touch me while I say them?”

He nodded, holding out his hand. Nino sighed, feeling the softest brush of Satoshi’s fingertips against his scarred skin.

He wanted to say ‘I love you,’ but it wasn’t something to be said in a place like this. Instead he looked into Satoshi’s eyes, just as he had that day in the storage room, sacks of grain piled high to the ceiling. Funny enough, Rumiko had been there too.

Nino smiled with tears in his eyes.

“ _From the river that was choked and its tributaries emptied, I release you_.”

Satoshi cried out, falling forward. Nino barely had the strength to keep them both from tumbling to the ink-stained ground, wrapping his arms around Satoshi, feeling the familiar heat of his body. _I love you_ , he thought. _You’re going to leave me, but I love you. I love you. I love you._

He knew something had changed a few moments later as Satoshi straightened up, taking hold of him by the shoulders. 

He just knew.

Satoshi let him go, only running a finger along his jaw before turning away. Nino refused to leave. He would stay and see it done.

It went quicker than he’d thought. He didn’t even realize it was happening until Rumiko coughed the first time, a mixture of dark ink and water spurting out of her mouth. Satoshi was filling her lungs with water. She would die drowning.

Her movements were slow after everything she’d already endured, toppling over and clawing weakly at her throat, at her chest. Satoshi didn’t even move, simply standing, looking down at her. Nino crossed his arms, hugging himself. She writhed on the floor until she lacked the ability to struggle. A minute later, it was done.

Just like that, his centuries of pain had come to a quiet end.

—

Without words, they turned and walked out of the room, heading out of the forsaken building and into the clean, fresh air. They lingered together on the far side of the “castle,” out of the sight and hearing of the Kingsguard. They faced the east, and Nino stood a few steps back, waiting for the inevitable.

“Come with me,” Satoshi said.

He didn’t have to say where.

Nino shook his head, sighing. “Jun needs my help.”

Satoshi didn’t turn around to look at him now. “You said you didn’t want to be king.”

“And I won’t be. But it will take him years to undo all the wrongs of the Sun Kingdom, to move past what evils his family committed. The task may actually be impossible,” he admitted. “It is a broken kingdom, but I know that he will spend the rest of his life trying to do what he can. How can I turn away from him?”

“This was always going to be your answer?” He didn’t miss the stubborn tone of Satoshi’s voice, familiar even now.

“I thought you would be gone already,” he mumbled. “I honestly thought you would ride off into the eastern sky on a cloud or a water spout without looking back.”

At that, Satoshi turned. Looking back. And this time, Nino could see the change in him. He hadn’t grown bigger or taller or stronger. He wore the same shabby clothes, his dark, unruly hair falling across his forehead. He was only wearing boots because he had to. Everything that had changed had changed in his eyes. They were still brown, but when the light caught them, Nino thought they might have glimmered. That they might have shone. The power he’d shown at the palace, his water-hopping and glass-filling…those had been parlor tricks.

“I am thirty-four,” Nino reminded him. “You are eight hundred and thirty-six, give or take.”

“Kazunari…”

“I am growing older every second,” he said sharply. “I will age. I will grow old. And I will die. It doesn’t seem that way now, when you and I look similar. But you know it is so. You watched it happen to everyone else in my wretched family. Our lives must seem so quick to you.”

“My father…”

“…will not see things the way that you do,” Nino interrupted him. “I’m from the family that trapped you, and even if he lets me and the rest of the human race remain alive, he will do no favors for me.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I don’t have to.”

Satoshi rested his hands on his hips, staring him down. “You will not be moved?”

“If you doubt the way I feel for you, then look here.” He held up his right arm, the tattoos rough and haphazardly carved. “Look here and be assured of it.” 

Satoshi’s look was stern. “I don’t have to take orders from you now.”

“It wasn’t an order, you idiot,” he muttered, unable to keep tears from forming in his eyes. Why wouldn’t he just go? Why wouldn’t he just accept that this was the way of things? He was free. 

“We found a way,” Satoshi said. “We are standing here right now, you and I, because we found a way.”

He shook his head. “ _From the river that was choked and its tributaries emptied, I release you. I release you_. Damn it, _I release you_!” He bent down, tugging the boot from his foot and flinging it across the grassy field at him. It landed harmlessly a few feet to Satoshi’s left. “I fucking release you!”

The look in Satoshi’s eyes softened, and he started to laugh. He started to laugh so hard that he nearly fell over, bending forward and sounding half-mad.

“I’ll throw the other boot! _Shoe of mine hit your head_!” he hollered in two languages, aiming for menacing and ending in a laugh of his own. They’d been through so much together. So much he couldn’t comprehend it.

They stood there, human and god, laughing until they ached. Finally Satoshi leaned over, lifting Nino’s boot from the grass. He carried it with him, holding it out. Nino refused to accept it, so Satoshi just let it fall back to the ground.

Nino was crying, he was laughing. He had no idea what he felt. But he let Satoshi step forward, put his arms around him. He stood there with one boot, arm aching and heart full, letting Satoshi’s mouth capture his own.

And somehow he knew that once again, they would find a way.

—

Eight Months Later

—

The eastern border town of Kawazu-cho was in need of a full-time healer. 

It also happened to be five hundred and six miles closer to the Great Sea than Amaterasu was. Still a bit far from the sea itself, but what started in Kawazu-cho as a muddy stream widened and deepened as it flowed east. It was a tributary of a much greater river that went all the way to the sea. A trading barge might make the journey in a week. Someone who could walk on water a great deal faster.

The town was a common stop for several caravans, Water Finders and traders alike, so he’d had no trouble finding himself a ride. It had been over a year since he’d ridden through the desert at night, a camel beneath him, and he’d missed it. He paid his way to Kawazu-cho by making salves and medicinal powders. And when those things weren’t required, he assisted the Water Finder’s wife, helping to keep track of the camels and the accounts as he’d done for so many years.

As soon as word had reached them about the king’s death, they’d packed up everything and headed for Amaterasu. They’d been worried about him. They’d had no word from him since he’d left, and Ninomiya Kazuko had finally had enough.

It had taken them over a month coming from the southwest, and when they’d arrived, Amaterasu wasn’t the same city she’d left decades earlier. For one thing, there were fewer soldiers walking the streets. The strict water rationing that had defined the capital region for centuries had come to an end.

It was the first law that Jun had passed as leader of the Sun Kingdom, the first of hundreds he had completely rewritten or torn to pieces now several months later. Nino wasn’t sure if Jun or Sho had gotten a full night’s rest in the last several months, but there was still much to be done.

Nobody outside of the palace really believed the stories that there had been gods walking among them. They simply believed that the royal family had kept water from them on purpose. Jun let them think whatever pleased them, ordering new pipes built and new wells dug throughout Amaterasu. The lead engineer on the project, a man with a kind smile named Masaki, had a real knack for finding new water sources near the capital.

“I’ll go home when I’m good and ready,” Masaki told Nino repeatedly before getting back to work. 

Negotiations with the Empire of Salt on an aqueduct project, set to be financed entirely from the royal family’s centuries-old cache of gold and jewels, were already underway.

Nino had done what was asked of him without complaint, attending meetings and negotiations on his brother’s behalf. But as the months went on, he’d realized that things would still get done in the capital without him. And he would be even more valuable in the east, forging new trade relationships.

He refused the title Jun wanted to give him. The good citizens of Kawazu-cho might be intimidated at the thought of going to a healer who was also a prince. It was Seitaro who had found a painter, commissioning the new sign that hung over the door of his clinic.

_Ninomiya Kazunari_ , the sign read. _Healer and Merchant_.

His parents stayed with him in Kawazu-cho for a week before word reached them that the village of Kutotaki-mura to the south had need of a Water Finder. For all the work Jun was doing in the capital, it would be a long time before the far reaches of the kingdom could benefit. Ninomiya Seitaro would always have work to do.

When they’d gone, he locked up the clinic for the night, heading upstairs to his simple set of rooms. Nothing so luxurious as the royal palace of Amaterasu. He had to cook his own meals, clean his own clothes. He slept in a comfortable enough futon on the floor. He chewed on stinky kerida blossom before cleaning his teeth in the morning.

A letter arrived about a week after he’d settled in, sealed with the king’s symbol. But upon opening it, he saw that the entire note was written in the language of the gods, just to make him work a bit harder.

“Masaki,” he said aloud, laughing.

Like always, the language of the gods used many words to say only a little. Nino was instructed to wait by the town bridge on the night of the next full moon. The bridge over the muddy stream that flowed east and over the border.

He followed the instructions given. Kawazu-cho was not a large town, and most residents had gone to bed when Nino pulled the door of his clinic shut behind him, walking to the bridge. The moon was high overhead, the sky dotted with stars. He stepped onto the bridge, leaning against the rail and looking to the eastern sky.

It was only a short while before he saw the ripples. He tried to look unimpressed when a figure came skimming across the water, his bare feet hovering only inches above it. When he finally came close to the bridge, a water spout raised him up, bringing him eye level with Nino.

His hair was longer than it had been, still wild and black. He was grinning, at ease, as beautiful as the day they’d met.

Nino sighed. “Show off.”

—

He declined the offer to be hauled hundreds of miles downriver so he might take in the view of the Great Sea. “I have to work in the morning,” he protested as they walked hand in hand back in the direction of the clinic.

“No fun.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

He unlocked the door, not letting his guest come upstairs until he’d brought a wet towel, cleaning the dust of the town roads from his bare feet.

They climbed the stairs together, and Nino spoke first, as he usually did.

“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly.

Satoshi stepped forward, kissing him softly. He returned it, knowing that now wasn’t the time to ask questions. To worry or to wonder. Now the time was theirs.

It was a simpler setting than Nino’s rooms had been at the palace, but that didn’t matter. They fell into their old rhythm easily, Satoshi’s kisses moving down his stomach, his tongue circling the head of his cock before taking him in his mouth. It was good, maybe it was better, knowing they didn’t have to keep their voices down to avoid alerting the soldiers at the door. There were no soldiers now. Just the two of them.

After receiving Masaki’s note, he’d made sure to have some oil on hand, and he prepared himself, letting Satoshi watch. When he felt ready, he poured out more oil, running his hand up and down the firm length of Satoshi’s shaft. “I’ve missed you,” he said again, leaning over to kiss him.

With Satoshi seated beneath him, Nino moved into his lap, wrapping an arm around him. He moved, their simultaneous moans of pleasure making them both laugh. Nino shook his head, lowering himself down and letting Satoshi’s cock fill him inch by inch. He leaned in, full and needy, kissing him like he’d dreamed of doing all these months alone. 

Their lips barely parted, Nino moving a bit clumsily in his need to be fucked, grinding down until he was panting in desperation. Satoshi eventually tired of Nino doing most of the work, moving so that he was on top, thrusting into him hard enough to leave Nino in a daze. Eventually he slowed, stilling within him.

Satoshi looked down at him, tracing his fingertips along his arm. The tattoos that were there to stay. His eyes were red with unshed tears.

“Don’t cry,” Nino said, reaching out and stroking his cheek. “Just don’t.”

And so he didn’t, sliding his hand up until it was joined with Nino’s, their fingers intertwining. He pushed into Nino with long, careful strokes, whispering his name, mouth grazing along the side of his face, his neck.

How lucky he was, Nino knew, to have the love of a god.

—

When he woke in the morning, Satoshi was still there. That was a first. But what alarmed Nino was the snoring.

He sat up, his joints cracking. Despite his need to work and earn a living that day, Nino had been unable to find a reason not to let Satoshi fuck him three different times during the night. He’d pay for it now as he bit back a complaint, staring down at him.

Satoshi was on his back, halfway out of the futon, his bare leg sticking out and his hair falling across his eyes. Nino watched in confusion as his chest moved up and down, his soft snores filling the small room.

Gods didn’t need sleep.

Determined to test the truth of it, he leaned over and pinched Satoshi’s nose closed. That woke him for sure, and he sputtered, pushing Nino’s hand away. He opened his eyes, staring up at him with a scowl.

“Why are you snoring?” Nino asked him.

Satoshi’s face reddened in embarrassment.

“Well? Tell me.”

Reluctantly, Satoshi sat up. To Nino’s continued astonishment, he seemed a bit sore himself, wincing a little. “You’re thirty-five now, Kazunari.”

Nino rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you for the reminder.”

Satoshi didn’t miss a beat. “Well, I’m thirty-seven.”

“Eight hundred and thirty-seven,” Nino corrected him.

“No,” Satoshi insisted. He leaned forward, resting the palm of his hand against Nino’s cheek. “Just thirty-seven.”

He blinked a few times, trying to comprehend. “You arrived on a _water spout_.”

“Father has made a few adjustments but left the rest alone.” Satoshi leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Nino’s lips. “I’m thirty-seven. And soon enough I will be thirty-eight. The other day I found a gray hair!”

Nino shook his head, unable to accept it. “You didn’t give up what I think you’ve given up. Satoshi, no…”

“My father was feeling a bit generous,” Satoshi admitted. He took Nino’s hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I told him that I wanted to grow old with you.”

“You’re a fool, then,” Nino said, even as his heart swelled with happiness. “When it would have been far smarter to have him make me immortal!”

Satoshi’s face fell. “Oh.”

“‘Oh’ is right!” Nino complained, ruffling Satoshi’s messy hair and getting to his feet. “Does Masaki know?”

“He supported my decision.”

“You’ll regret it,” Nino informed him. “You’ll regret the added human weakness. I’ll add that to your existing list. Number one, alcohol. Number two, lungs. Number three, yours truly. And now number four, a finite lifespan.”

Satoshi got to his feet as well, pulling him close. “Weaknesses aren’t always bad.”

It would take some time to get used to it, to the realization that Satoshi was both a god and mortal. But just like they had in Nino’s rooms at the palace, looking through barely legible scraps for weeks, they had found a solution to a problem. They had found a way.

Satoshi stayed with him in Kawazu-cho for a week before announcing that he wanted to go home. He’d come back, of course. And maybe one day Nino would join him, discovering for himself just what Satoshi had been dreaming about all those years, sitting on the roof of the palace looking into the eastern sky.

They waited until nightfall, until the town had turned in and the lanterns in the streets had been extinguished. They headed for the bridge, Nino leaning in to kiss him goodbye.

Satoshi smiled. “See you when I’m older.”

Since Nino knew that Satoshi was likely going to return to him in a month, it wasn’t all that funny, but he smiled in return anyway.

As a child, Ninomiya Kazunari hadn’t believed in gods. Sure, he’d heard stories, been entertained or scared by them. But he hadn’t seen the gods in the world around him. He’d seen starving people, bone dry villages. Amaterasu was just the place where the taxes went. And water was more precious than gold.

Thankfully some of those things would start to change now. The terrible certainties of his childhood, the certainty of suffering, would become rare. Because now the Sun Kingdom wasn’t ruled by the selfish and the wicked. Water might always be a gift within its borders. Aqueducts couldn’t go everywhere, and a well might dry up on a whim. But water would no longer be withheld on purpose, to control or to punish.

Still, change would take time. And it would take hope. And it would take faith.

“See you when I’m older,” Nino replied.

He watched as the water from the stream rose effortlessly up into the air. Satoshi leapt up and onto it, waving goodbye as he had it push him along, off to the east and out of sight.

Nino didn’t know for certain how much time he had. No human could. But because of his brother, because of his friends, he now had hope. And faith…well…

He moved his fingers to his lips, still tasting the kiss from the god he loved.

Faith he had in abundance.


End file.
